


Safe Spaces

by pterawaters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Lives, Alternate Universe - Triad Verse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Blood and Gore, Did I mention it's an ensemble piece?, Ensemble Cast, Multi, Parent Death, Polyamory, Survival, Triad Verse, Triadverse, Zombies, of the zombie variety, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison miraculously survives being impaled by the Oni. When she wakes up, she finds that a mysterious disease has taken over Beacon Hills, and maybe even the world. Allison and her friends try to find safety and comfort with each other. After all, that's what it takes to survive one day at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for the [Triad Verse Big Bang](http://triadversebang.livejournal.com/). You can learn more about triad verse [at the FAQ page](http://triadverse.tumblr.com/post/86154454124/triad-verse-faq). In short, in triad verse people form relationships of three people (triads) as the norm.
> 
> This work is heavily inspired by The Walking Dead, State of Decay, and [Dead in Ohio](http://archiveofourown.org/series/51868), which I highly recommend. It was graciously beta read by [chocoholicannanymous](http://chocoholicannanymous.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Art for this work was done by the incredible [tresa_cho](http://tresa_cho.livejournal.com/). Please visit their [art masterpost](http://tresa-cho.livejournal.com/311797.html) and give some love!

Allison wakes up when a door slams. She has always been taught never to slam a door closed, always to close it gently, and silently. Therefore, the sound of a door slamming is an instant indicator that something is very, very wrong. Before she is fully conscious, Allison’s heart rockets into overdrive, her eyes shoot open, and she sits up.

Pain lances through her body, centered hotly on a point between her ribs and her navel, and suddenly the room around Allison makes sense. It's a hospital. The gown, the scratchy sheets, the bed that has railings – all mean Allison is in a hospital.

Who slams a door in a hospital? Rude.

Allison presses a hand to her belly, wincing at the pain sizzling through her body. How did she get hurt? She remembers Lydia was missing. She remembers going with Isaac to look for her, but can't quite pin down anything past that. Allison can't even remember if she’s been shot or stabbed or what. 

Before Allison can adequately think of her next step, the door to her room opens, and a figure hurries in, closing the door behind it. Black curly hair, colorful scrubs, _nurse_. Scott’s mom. Melissa Stilinski turns around, putting her back to the door, and her wide eyes scan the room, falling eventually on Allison. “You’re awake!”

“What’s going on?” Allison asks, coughing against the pain in her rusty throat.

Mrs. Stilinski holds up a finger and presses her ear to the door. What she hears must be satisfactory, because she hurries over to Allison and scans Allison’s monitors. “Something’s going on,” Mrs. Stilinski says, heading over to a cabinet at the side of the room and pulling out a pair of blue scrubs. “Something _bad_.”

“Worse than usual?” Allison asks, pulling her knees closer to her chest and finding it more difficult than she expects. “What happened to me?”

“Sword,” Mrs. Stilinski says, returning to Allison’s side and pulling back her blankets. “We almost lost you. Do you think you can stand?”

Allison is surprised by the abruptness of Mrs. Stilinski's request, and that scares her. She almost asks why she needs to stand and what is on the other side of the door, but Allison knows no good comes of asking questions when things need to be done instead. Allison puts her arm around Mrs. Stilinski's shoulders and shifts her weight forward onto her feet. Everything about standing up hurst, except for her feet. Still, her legs feel like they will hold her weight. “Ugh.”

“Doing okay?” Mrs. Stilinski asks, grasping Allison’s arm over her shoulder and setting her other arm around Allison’s waist. “You had a lot of internal damage. I’m pretty sure you’re missing some of your spleen.”

“Certainly feels like it,” Allison says, holding tighter to Mrs. Stilinski's shoulder. Together the two of them get Allison dressed in the scrubs, and her feet into a pair of slipper socks that look hospital-issue. The entire process is painful and takes Allison’s breath away. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not exactly sure.” Mrs. Stilinski helps Allison hobble over to the door, which she opens slowly, sticking her head out carefully. Allison catches a glimpse of the hallway, which has medical supplies strewn across the floor and a streak of blood on the desk at the nurse’s station.

“What happened?”

Chuckling sadly, Mrs. Stilinski says, “What hasn’t happened?”

Trying to remember what happened before she woke up in the hospital, Allison asks, “Was this the Nogitsune?”

“No.” They move quickly down the hallway toward a wheelchair sitting haphazardly in the aisle. It's stacked with bandages and other medical supplies, which Mrs. Stilinski brushs to the side before depositing Allison in their place. “They dealt with the nogitsune. This is something else completely. I’m not really sure _what_ it is, but the whole town has gone crazy.”

Allison makes a noise to acknowledge she’s heard Mrs. Stilinski, but she doesn't muster up the energy to say anything further.

Mrs. Stilinski then starts piling supplies back up onto Allison’s lap. “I don’t care if they fire me for doing this, because I have a feeling we’re going to need these. Also, that’s my boss over there.” Mrs. Stilinski points down the hallway behind Allison.

It's hard to turn around, both with the injury in her stomach still raw, and while trying to hold onto everything Mrs. Stilinski piles on top of Allison. When she does manage to turn around, Allison sees a body halfway through one of the patient room doors. It lies in a big puddle of blood, and Allison is fairly sure most of the person’s brain is missing, if that had been their head at some point. “Oh, my god.”

“C’mon.” Before she can do much more than grasp the pile of packages and vials and pill bottles in her lap, Allison is being wheeled toward the elevators and away from the body. As they wait for the elevator, a far-off scream makes Allison jump and drop a few vials onto the floor. Mrs. Stilinski scoops them up quickly as the elevator arrives, giving a ding so loud, Allison has to bite her lip to keep from shrieking in surprise.

Before pushing Allison into the elevator, Mrs. Stilinski sticks her head into it and looks all around, both up and down. “What are you looking for?”

Mrs. Stilinski pulls Allison into the elevator with her hands on the armrests of Allison’s wheelchair. "Stiles has been calling them zombies.”

Allison laughs, but it sends a painful shock through her body, so she holds her breath to stay as still as possible. When the pain fades, Allison asks, “Zombies? Really?”

Shrugging, Mrs. Stilinski replies “It’s as good a description as any.” Then the elevator slows down, and Mrs. Silinski hisses. “Shit.”

“What?”

Mrs. Stilinski gets in front of Allison, putting her hands up like she's getting ready to push someone out of the elevator. “I didn’t push the button for this floor.”

“So, someone else wants to get on.” Allison uses one foot to push her wheelchair closer to the panel of buttons. “You don’t think a zombie could’ve known to push the button, do you?”

“I’ve given up on making assumptions like that,” Mrs. Stilinski says as the elevator doors slide open. Her shoulders slump with relief. “Chris.”

Allison hears her dad’s voice. “Did you find her?” Allison cranes her body to one side of the wheelchair so she can look out the door.

“Dad!”

Allison’s father moves into the elevator, putting a gentle hand on Allison’s hair. He leans down and kisses Allison’s temple. “I almost thought I lost you.”

“Please don’t speak too soon,” Mrs. Stilinski says as the elevator doors close again. “I had to trap one of those people in a broom closet while I was getting Allison. Who knows how many could be waiting down in the garage."

“Just stick close,” Dad says, checking over his gun. “I’ll get us back to the house.”

“Which house?” Allison shifts in her chair, barely holding onto some of the packages in her lap. 

Mrs. Stilinski gets around behind Allison’s chair. “My house. Alpha’s privilege, apparently.”

“Also, it’s big enough to hold everyone in one, defensible house,” Dad says as the elevator doors open.

Allison is about to ask whether or not there are too many windows, but her instincts tell her to be silent as they move into the parking garage under the hospital. Dad’s SUV is close to the elevator, parked nose-out, for a fast getaway. All three of them move over to it quickly, Dad unlocking it and then moving forward and around the car quickly when he spots something. Mrs. Stilinski opens both of the passenger doors, sticking her head in and looking around before she turns back to Allison.

As Mrs. Stilinski takes the supplies from Allison’s lap and throws them into the back seat, Allison cranes her neck to see where Dad has gone. She doesn't see him, but she sees a figure wandering out from behind an ambulance which has crashed into one of the garage walls. “Ah!” Allison cries out, watching as the figure steps into the light. It has dark blood stains under its nose, ashen skin, and an arm dangling in the wrong direction. “Look!”

Mrs. Stilinski turns around, her eyes wide. “Shit.” She dives into the car and for a moment, Allison thinks she’s been left out as bait. Then, Mrs. Stilinski comes back out of the car with a wooden bat in her hands. She chokes up on the bat and rushes over toward the zombie, like she's trying to keep it away from Allison. Mrs. Stilinski swings the bat, connecting with the zombie’s head. It stumbles, but doesn't go down. 

Allison looks around frantically for something she can use as a weapon, but before she finds anything suitable, Dad’s voice calls out. “Melissa! Duck!”

Mrs. Stilinski backs away from the zombie and crouches as she turns, running away from where Allison's sitting. A shot rings out through the garage, so loud it makes Allison’s ears ring. The zombie crumples, a slow puddle of black blood oozing from its head.

Mrs. Stilinski jogs back in Allison’s direction, arms urgently held out to help Allison stand. Allison’s whole body aches when she does move, and she gasps, holding back the scream she wants to give as Mrs. Stilinski lifts her up into the back seat. Dad hovers behind her, his eyes half on Allison and half out on the surroundings. Eventually, Allison gets settled in the back seat, shaking and sweating from the pain, though it subsides somewhat as she sits still.

Shoving a few more of the supplies into the car at Allison’s feet, Mrs. Stilinski says, “C’mon. Get the engine started. We have to get out of here.”

~*~

**26 hours previously: Day 1, 9 pm**

“Lydia?” Kira asks as she looks up from her homework. She has a question about the essay they’re working on for English, but she notices Lydia’s gaze is a thousand yards away, not on the book in front of her. Kira puts a gentle hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “Lydia?”

Lydia takes a sharp breath and turns to face Kira. “What?” Her voice cuts the air sharply.

Kira thinks this is probably the way Lydia reacts when she’s scared, but to be honest, there haven’t been a lot of moments that could be considered _safe_ since Kira first met Lydia. Just in case Lydia is truly annoyed, Kira keeps her own voice gentle. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Lydia says, but she shakes her head and furrows her brow. “Actually, no.”

Kira follows when Lydia stands up off the bed and wanders toward the window. This is Lydia’s house, so Kira isn’t quite sure what to look for when she joins Lydia at the window. Nothing in particular looks out of place. She asks Lydia, “What is it?”

“I–“ Lydia shakes her head and reaches around Kira toward the desk. She picks up her phone and unlocks it as she says, “There are so many of them.”

Kira’s heart flutters in her chest and she has to clamp down on the tingling in her fingers that usually ends in a blown circuit breaker or a shattered light bulb. “So many of what?”

“Dead,” Lydia says, choosing a contact on her phone. Kira thinks she sees Stiles’ picture, but she’s not entirely sure. “Dead and dying. All around us.”

Kira can’t help but gasp a little in surprise. “People?” Lydia’s eyes go blank and she drops her phone, which Kira manages to snatch out of the air before it hits the floor. She wishes she wouldn’t have caught it when Lydia opens her mouth and screams. Kira recognizes the scream as Lydia’s Banshee scream, even as she struggles to cover her ears and weather the storm as best she can. When Lydia’s voice fades away, Kira notices the phone in her hand. She scrambles to turn it around and finds it still connected to Scott. Putting the phone to her ear, Kira cries out, “Scott? Are you there?”

“Is Lydia okay?” Scott asks, his voice breathy and panicked. “That was her, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Kira replies, catching Lydia with her free arm when Lydia starts to slump. “She says a lot of people are dying.”

“My mom,” Lydia croaks out, her voice wrecked from the scream and her eyes shiny wet. Kira’s heart hurts for her friend.

“Your mom?” Kira sets Lydia on the bed and tries to get a good look at Lydia’s face. “What’s going to happen to your mom?”

Before Lydia can answer, Kira hears a scream from elsewhere in the house. Oh, crap! Kira dashes for her katana, hidden inside the rolled-up yoga mat attached to her school bag. She tells Scott, “You’d better get over here,” and then drops the phone in Lydia’s lap. 

Kira rushes from Lydia’s bedroom and toward another series of screams, which sound a lot like they’re coming from Lydia’s mom, who Kira has met a few times, and certainly wants to save from whomever or whatever is attacking her. Her socked feet slip on the hardwood of the foyer at the bottom of the stairs, but it means she can be silent on her approach.

Kira finds them in the kitchen, Lydia’s mom holding a kitchen knife out toward what looks like a man. A strong smell of rotten eggs comes off the man and his skin looks pale and ashen, almost grey. He lunges toward Mrs. Martin, one hand out and the other dangling at his side. Mrs. Martin screams again, holding out her knife.

“Hey!” Kira calls out, rushing toward them. The smell is even worse closer to the guy, but Kira focuses on the fact that he doesn’t seem to hear Kira. She doesn’t want to run him through, just in case he’s human (which frankly, she’s beginning to doubt), so Kira kicks the back of one of the guy’s knees. He falls forward, and despite her katana still being in its sheath, Kira hears the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding into flesh.

Kira pulls the guy away from Mrs. Martin by the shoulder, throwing him to his back on the ground. Mrs. Martin’s hands are sickeningly empty and when Kira looks down at the guy, he’s got the kitchen knife jammed up under his chin and into his skull. Mrs. Martin wretches and scrambles away.

It takes Kira several moments of staring at the body to realize what, exactly is wrong about it. Kira’s inaction gives Lydia enough time to catch up, grasping Kira’s arm and asking, “What is it?”

“There’s no blood,” Kira says, finally putting her finger on what’s been bugging her. “Why isn’t there any blood?”

Lydia doesn’t answer. She’s already at her mother’s side. Kira is about to turn back toward the figure (it doesn’t quite look human enough to keep calling it a guy), when Lydia looks up and meets Kira’s eyes. “Kira.”

Kira follows as Lydia’s gaze turns toward her mother and the injury on Mrs. Martin’s arm. “What is that?”

Mrs. Martin sniffles. “That _thing_ bit me.”

The sight of Mrs. Martin’s wound makes a thrill of disgust shoot up Kira’s spine. It’s obviously a human-sized bite, but the flesh is ripped and there’s blood leaking from the wound. Kira wants to vomit.

Then she hears a scraping sound coming from behind her, from where the attacker is laying on the floor with a knife in its face. Kira takes a quick, surprised breath and turns just as a hand curls around her ankle, gripping hard.

Kira shrieks and turns, watching in horror as the figure pulls the knife out of its own face and drops it, reaching for her with that hand as well. Using her free foot, Kira stomps on the thing’s head before she’s even conscious of what she’s doing. Surprisingly, the thing’s skull crushes under her foot more like fragile egg shells than like bone. She’s not even wearing shoes! The body stops moving, but the hand around Kira’s ankle doesn’t let go. Goop starts to seep into Kira’s sock, which makes her gag until she brings her foot up and pulls the sock off, throwing it at the body.

Grimacing and whining, Kira crouches down and pries the fingers apart, freeing herself and falling back on her butt. She shuffles away from the body as quickly as she can, looking up when several pairs of footsteps approach. Scott crouches down on the floor next to Kira.

“Are you okay?” Scott’s eyes rove over Kira’s body, like he’s looking for injuries, and she feels better now that he’s here. “Yeah.” Kira grasps the hand he holds out for her. Before pulling her up, Scott must catch sight of the body, because his eyes go wide.

“What is that?” Scott’s eyes stay trained on the body while he helps Kira to her feet.

Stiles stumbles into the room as Kira says, “I don’t know. I killed it.”

“Yeah, but not before it bit me!” Mrs. Martin cries, and all eyes turn toward her. Lydia’s crying, which makes Kira want to cry in sympathy.

Through her tears, Lydia tells Scott, “It didn’t die right away.”

“What does that mean?” Scott asks, looking to Kira.

Kira shrugs. “It– Well, it was still alive after a knife to the face.”

“All the way into the temporal lobe!” Lydia cries, leaving her mother’s side and stalking toward Kira and Scott. “It should’ve been dead!”

Kira points at the ruined mess that used to be the body. Her ruined sock is still sitting on its shoulder. “I crushed its head. With my bare foot. I–”

“That’s weird.” Scott “Uh-oh,” Stiles says, making Kira’s heart drop at the resigned tone in his voice. 

“What?” Lydia demands.

Stiles inches toward the body carefully, a disgusted sneer on his face. “Uh, so how does everyone feel about zombies?”

“Zombies?” Kira asks, several horror movies flashing through her mind, like her life hasn’t been one horror movie after the next since moving to Beacon Hills. 

Scoffing, Scott insists, “It’s not a zombie!”

Stiles scoffs right back and points at the figure. “It’s obviously been dead awhile. Don’t tell me you can’t smell that.”

“Rotten eggs,” Scott agrees.

Kira points over at Mrs. Martin. “It did bite her. And I had to smoosh its brain…”

“Are you _insane_!” Mrs. Martin cries, breaking away from Lydia’s hold. “There’s no such thing as zombies!”

“Mom–” Lydia says, but Mrs. Martin cuts her off with a gesture.

Shaking her finger at the body on the floor, Mrs. Martin says, “That _mad man_ broke into my house and bit me!” She shivers and looks up at the ceiling, holding her good hand to her forehead. “Oh, god. We need to call the police, don’t we?” She fans her face. “Feeling weak. I think I need an ambulance.”

Kira looks to Scott, who exchanges a glance first with her, and then with Stiles. Finally, Scott shrugs. “Yeah, okay. But we’re calling Derek, too. Maybe he knows what this is.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles says, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

Kira thinks about the body she stomped to death and bile rises, hot and bitter, at the back of her throat. Then she thinks about all the zombie movies she’s seen, and her eyes turn toward Mrs. Martin. Kira feels her face go pale and her fingers go numb. “Quarantine,” she says, the word popping into her head and out of her mouth before she can stop it. She also remembers that Lydia _screamed_ for her mom, and that when Lydia screams, someone’s going to die.

Stiles claps Kira’s shoulder with one heavy hand. “Good idea. Who knows how fast this could spread?”

As the police and the ambulance arrive, Lydia grabs Kira’s arm and holds Kira’s gaze with wide eyes. “I screamed.”

“I know,” Kira replies, pulling Lydia into a hug. “I mean, maybe you’re wrong this time. Maybe she’s not gonna–” Brushing her hand down Lydia’s hair, Kira reminds Lydia. “Like with Allison.”

Lydia doesn’t really hug Kira back, but she doesn’t pull away either. After a moment, she says wetly, “Yeah, maybe.” Neither of them talk about how Allison technically died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

~*~

**Day 1, 10 pm**

“If this is zombies,” Stiles says, leading Scott and Kira back to his car from the Martin house. Derek said he was coming to see the body, but he hasn't shown up yet, and Lydia decided to drive to the hospital after her mom. Going to the hospital is a bad move, Stiles thinks, given the situation. He’s pretty sure Lydia doesn’t believe that it’s only a matter of time before her mother turns into a flesh-crazed monster. Of course, Stiles tends to avoid the hospital as much as possible. “If this is zombies, we should all stick together.”

“Our house?” Scott asks, pulling Kira’s hand into his. “There is a lot of extra space.”

Stiles nods. It’s been the four of them rattling around in a house meant for at least six or seven since Stiles’ mom died. Stiles knows his parents have had a hell of a time keeping up with the payments on it, without a third spouse. Still, he knows why they haven’t moved to a smaller house, either. None of them can bear the thought of leaving her behind for good. “Sure. Let’s pick up Malia on the way.”

They get in the car and Stiles starts the engine. As he drives away from Lydia’s neighborhood, Kira pipes up from the back seat. “Do you guys think this could have anything to do with the nemeton?”

Stiles shares a look with his brother. Scott clears his throat. “It could.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I mean, what around here _doesn’t_ have something to do with the freaking nemeton?”

“But zombies?” Scott asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Derek still hasn’t called me back yet.”

“Maybe the zombies got him,” Kira offers, which makes Stiles have to stifle a laugh. The thought of zombies taking out Derek Hale, who just can’t seem to die, ever, seems ridiculous to Stiles. He thinks Derek could win a fight against zombies. It's not like he wins fights against anyone else. 

Stiles sort of hates how far into the woods Malia’s house sits. Still, when Kira texted her, that’s where Malia said she’d be, so that’s where they’re going to get her. The drive is dark and creepy, and Stiles has zombies on the brain, so when something moves into his headlights, he stomps on the breaks and screams. The Jeep skids to a stop and a deer stares at them for a second before leaping back into the woods. “Oh, my god. I think I just died.”

“Your heart’s still beating,” Scott says, almost cheerfully.

Stiles gives Scott an unimpressed look. “Do _you_ want to drive?”

“Do you want me to drive?” Scott offers, a smile spreading across his face, which Stiles can barely see in the light coming from the dash.

“No, I don’t want you to drive.” Stiles strokes the Jeep’s steering wheel. “Like hell are you getting your hands on my Jeep again.”

Scott chuckles but turns back toward the road. Stiles thinks he hears his brother whisper, “That was _one_ time,” but to be honest, Stiles still gets auditory hallucinations every once in a while. It’s only been two weeks since Scott saved him from the nogitsune, and Stiles has definitely been better.

Much, much better.

Stiles pulls up outside Malia’s house, driving slowly on the gravel driveway. Stiles isn’t quite sure how Mr. Tate feels about Stiles being friends with his daughter. The guy likes cleaning his gun _a lot_ , and Stiles has seen enough crime scene photos, and enough guns to know exactly how afraid he should be. Honestly, the intimidation mixed with Stiles’ ongoing recovery is probably the reason why his relationship with Malia has been moving at a glacial pace.

“The house is dark,” Kira says, drawing Stiles’ attention to it. The porch light is on, dimly illuminating the clearing around the house, but all of the windows are dark. “Didn’t Malia text that she was here?”

“Maybe she fell asleep.” Stiles tries to sound optimistic, but he knows exactly how unlikely it is that both Malia and her father have gone to bed before eight o’clock at night. 

“Right,” Scott says with disbelief in his voice. Scott’s eyes flash red, which sort of lights up the interior of the Jeep in this demonic way. Stiles shivers at the crawling feeling on his scalp. “Stay here.”

“Stay here to get eaten?” Stiles cuts the engine and unbuckles his seat belt. “Yeah, right.”

He’s gotten as far as opening his door when he hears footsteps running toward them. Blue eyes appear in the darkness, and Stiles lets out a breath of relief. It occurs to him that it’s fucked up that glowing blue eyes are comforting to him now. Still, the footsteps are moving fast, which Stiles knows better than to see as anything but a warning sign.

Stiles jumps out of the Jeep and pushes his seat forward, either so Kira can get out or so Malia can jump in. Kira jumps out before Stiles gets a good look a Malia, and possibly at the reason why she’s running. Scott goes off like a shot in Malia’s direction, with Kira close on his heels.

“I told you I didn’t want to stay behind,” Stiles calls after them, hesitating with one hand on the Jeep’s door, like something bad will happen if he lets go. Stiles’ free hands shakes and goosebumps cover his arms and neck. His legs feel like they're made out of heavy clay. He recognizes that he’s frozen in place, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Great, now he’s worse than useless.

Malia reaches Stiles a few seconds later, skidding to a stop next to him. She puts a hand on Stiles’ chest, her eyes out on the woods. “Your heart is beating like crazy!”

Stiles shakes himself out of his frozen state, letting go of the Jeep and clutching onto Malia instead. “What happened?”

“My dad never came home,” she says, her attention still out on the dark woods. “I went out looking for him.”

Stiles furrows his brow and nods out toward the woods. “Then what did Scott and Kira go after?”

Malia takes a breath, and Stiles recognizes her scenting the air. “Something wrong,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “The whole woods smells like it. Something dead.”

“Dead?” Stiles asks, pushing one hand up into his hair. “Like, rotten eggs dead sort of smell?”

Nodding, Malia turns toward Stiles. “Yeah. Can you smell it, too?”

“Not right now.” Stiles feels resigned. If the smell is all over the woods, this can’t be a good sign. He calls out into the darkness. “Scott! C’mon! Let’s get out of here!”

Someone shuffles into the clearing around Malia’s house, but it’s not Scott or Kira. Malia faces the figure and snarls, her fingers shifting into claws. Stiles drops Malia’s wrist before he gets scratched _again_. Malia runs toward the figure, ducking its outstretched hand and clawing it across the torso.

“Go for the head!” Stiles cries out to her, thinking about the squashed mess that had been the zombie at Lydia’s house. “Take its head off!”

Malia calls back, “I think it’s my dad!”

Stiles swallows against his dry throat. Shit. “That–” Stiles stumbles over his words and takes a breath before calling out again. “That doesn’t matter now!”

Malia takes out the zombie’s legs and then runs over to Stiles on all fours. She stands half-way up into a crouch when she reaches him. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”

The thing that could be Mr. Tate struggles to sit up and then get back on its feet. Stiles thinks he sees skin hanging off the zombie’s arm in a giant flap. Stiles points at Mr. Tate. “Does he smell dead?”

Looking at Mr. Tate and then back at Stiles, Malia says, “Good point.” She huffs and her face morphs. She speaks through fangs, “Take out his head?”

“Yeah.” Stiles feels kind of slimy, sending Malia toward her own father like this. It reminds him far too much of sending the Oni after his mima in the hospital. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries to put the memories out of his head. It’s the only way he’s been able to cope lately. Stiles thinks compartmentalization is probably going to be his life from now on.

Malia rushes toward Mr. Tate, who moves slowly, but mindlessly toward her. Malia claws at the other side of his torso, ducking his arm to get behind him again. Mr. Tate is a big guy, but he’s moving slowly. No wonder, if he’s actually dead. 

When he turns around, one of his big arms catches Malia on the shoulder, sending her sprawling. Stiles darts forward a few yards before he hesitates again. What could he possibly do to help? Wait, his bat is back in the Jeep, isn’t it? Stiles cries out again, “Scott! Get back here!” He rounds to the back of the Jeep and pops open the back, swinging it open and thrusting his arm in, feeling around for the bat.

As Stiles’ hand closes over the bat, Malia cries out, her scream ending in a growling roar. Stiles pulls the bat out of the Jeep as he turns toward Malia. Mr. Tate has his jaws locked around Malia’s calf, even though Malia’s claws are all embedded in his skull. Shit, shit, shit!

Stiles gets over to Malia as fast as he can, but he can’t figure out how to help her. If he hits Mr. Tate with his bat, there’s a good chance he’s going to hit Malia as well, maybe even drive Mr. Tate’s teeth further into her leg. Then it hits Stiles. Malia’s been bitten. He meets her eyes, realizing that she’s as good as dead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“What for?” Malia asks, right before crying out as she twists Mr. Tate’s head away from her leg. Some of her flesh comes with his teeth, blood spurting out as one of her arteries opens. Mr. Tate’s neck snaps and his skull crumples in as Malia presses her palms together. Shoving what remains of Mr. Tate’s body away from her, Malia says, “There.” The dispassion in her voice makes Stiles’ stomach drop.

He imagines himself doing something like that to his own father, or worse, to his mima. Stiles pushes those thoughts away before they can consume him. He winces at the sight of Malia’s leg. “He bit you.”

“It’s healing,” Malia says, her face and hands fading back into human. She looks down at the body, her brows furrowing and her lips trembling. “What happened to him?”

Stiles pulls Malia close. “I don’t know.” He thinks that now is not the time to tell her about zombies. She probably hasn’t even seen any of the movies. Stiles just got her to watch A New Hope the day before.

It doesn’t take long for Scott and Kira to come back into the clearing. Breathless, Kira says, “There were a few more of them in the woods.”

“You got one.” Scott nods at the body near Stiles’ and Malia’s feet.

“It was her dad,” Stiles says, giving Scott a long, wide-eyed look that he hopes Scott will read as a plea to tread carefully. “He bit her.”

Kira drops her katana into the leaf litter and kneels next to them. She turns wide, shiny eyes toward Malia’s face. “You got bit?”

“Yeah,” Malia says, her voice just as straightforward as always. She pulls up the leg of her jeans, exposing the wound and the new, pink skin under the blood. “It’s healing, see?”

Stiles’ phone buzzes and he’s taking it out of his pocket before he realizes. He has a few missed texts. The most recent one is from his Dad. _Get back home ASAP_ Unlocking his phone and reading the rest of his texts, Stiles tells the others, “Lydia says there are a ton of bite victims at the hospital. They’re starting to–” Stiles cuts himself off, realizing Malia’s still right there under one of his arms.

“What?” she asks, turning out of Stiles’ hold and kneeling in front of him, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “What are they starting to do?”

Stiles can’t look at Malia as he answers her. He meets Scott’s eyes instead. “Die. They’re starting to die.”

Kira whispers, “They _are_ zombies!”

“What’s a zombie?” Malia turns to face Kira. “What’s a zombie?”

Kira opens her mouth, but doesn’t answer right away, closing her mouth before opening it again soundlessly. “I–”

“We should get home,” Stiles says to break the tension. “Dad wants us back there.”

Scoffing, Scott offers Stiles a hand up. “When do we ever listen to what Dad wants?”

Kira helps Malia to her feet, taking one of Malia’s arms over her shoulder. Stiles takes the other one as Kira says, “I’ll tell you all about them in the car.”

Scott gives Stiles a look, and Stiles recognizes it as the one that says Scott’s got an idea in his head, and he’s not going to let it go. “Maybe we should take her to Deaton.”

“I don’t want to die,” Malia says quietly in Stiles’ ear. 

Stiles really just wants to get home, so he can board up all the windows and doors and hide until this all blows over. Really, have zombie movies taught these people nothing? Still, Stiles can’t ignore the way Malia squeezes his upper arm, like a plea. “Yeah. Deaton,” he agrees. “I’m driving.”

“You freaked out and almost drove off the road because of a deer,” Scott says, going around the Jeep and opening the passenger door. Kira and Stiles help Malia over and get her situated in the seat. “I could drive.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Stiles says, giving Malia her seatbelt before following Kira and Scott around to the other side, so they can climb into the back behind the driver’s seat. “Do you know when you can drive the Jeep next, Scott? Next time I’m literally _incapable_ of driving her, that’s when you can drive the Jeep.”

Stiles shoves his seat back into place, “accidentally” hitting Scott’s knees. He knows he should feel grateful that his brother is still alive, given everything they’ve gone through in the past few months, but what good is a brother if you can’t annoy him half to death.

Scott grunts and gives Stiles the evil eye, but the edges of his lips smirk up. Scott can never stay mad at Stiles. He’s too damn forgiving, and Stiles is too damn lovable.

Starting the engine, Stiles looks over at Malia, who’s poking at her calf with a pout on her lips. God, if she dies, Stiles doesn’t know what he’s going to do. They almost lost Allison, they did lose Erica and Boyd. They’re not going to lose anyone else, not if Stiles can help it.

He turns the car around and follows the gravel road back out to the highway, turning toward town and Deaton’s office. 

~*~

**Day 1, 10 pm**

Isaac changes the channel on the TV in Allison’s room again, looking for something better than fly-fishing or the shopping channel. He lands on the news, hears one word, “spreading across the nation,” and decides he’s had enough bad news for an entire lifetime. He switches the channel again, leaving the TV on a rerun of an old sitcom. He doesn’t remember the name of the show, but the characters look familiar. 

Allison lays on her bed, as still as ever. The doctors assure him that she’s only unconscious because she’s still under sedation. There was some sort of complication from her intestines being perforated by the sword, and it caused swelling in her brain. Isaac doesn’t know the whole story, just the information Chris Argent has shared with him. Mrs. Stilinski is on shift sometimes, but she just smiles and tells him she wishes she could tell him more.

Isaac unfolds his hand from Allison’s, wiping his sweaty palm on his pants. He hopes she wouldn’t mind holding his hand. He knows things between them were just getting started when she got hurt, but maybe he can bring her a little bit of comfort. After all, he’s heard all about how Allison spent a lot of her time at Isaac’s bedside, when he was in here a month ago.

It’s been a long day, and Isaac knows that one of the nurses is going to find out he’s here before too long. It could be a doctor who reminds him that visiting hours are over. You never know. Stranger things have happened.

A deep breath calms Isaac to his bones and he lays his head back, closing his eyes. Maybe they’ll just let him sleep here. The Stilinski house is great. Melissa and the Sheriff have been great hosts, and Scott is around most of the time, which makes Isaac feel a little better. Stiles is there a lot, too, and Isaac could do without him most of the time, to be honest. It’s not home. The hospital isn’t home either, but at least Allison is here.

Isaac wonders if she’ll wake up. The doctors are pretty confident that she will, once they pull the sedation, but Isaac still has his doubts. He was there when the sword went all the way through Allison’s body. Isaac knows how little damage it takes to kill a person. His dad took just a few claws to the wrong arteries and bled out. Cameron got knocked down due to the force of an IED. It blew his helmet off and smacked his skull against a brick building. His brain swelled so much that it suffocated itself of oxygen before the medics could save him.

Isaac isn’t supposed to know this much about how his family members died, but he learned about Cameron from a sympathetic squad mate. Isaac learned about his father by sneaking a look at his father’s autopsy report while they were questioning him about it.

All these thoughts on his mind, Isaac is almost asleep when he hears it. There’s a lot of ambient noise in the hospital – machines beeping, people talking and laughing and crying. He’s been able to tune most of it out. Still, the sound of a tray clattering to the ground breaks Isaac out of his daze and sets his heart beating in overtime.

He’s read a little about trauma, at Melissa Stilinski’s urging. He knows he’ll probably always react badly to loud noises. He practices breathing in and out slowly to control the panic. And then he hears the shouting. He can’t quite make out what’s going on, because the voices come from a floor or two below him, but Isaac knows this can’t be right.

Someone screams and Isaac is out of his chair before he knows what’s going on. Mrs. Stilinski isn’t on shift right now, so he’s not quite sure who to ask about what’s going on. He takes one last look at Allison, listens to her heart beating slowly and strongly, and then leaves her room. 

There’s a few nurses at the nurses station, watching a little TV under the counter. Isaac approaches them and asks, “What’s going on?”

One of them looks up at Isaac for half a second before turning her attention back to the screen. “There’s something going on down in LA.”

Another nurse uncrosses his arms and points at the television. “They think it’s contaminated drugs.”

“Or contaminated water,” the first nurse says, pushing her hands back into her hair. “There’s a bunch of people flipped out and going around biting everyone.”

Isaac hears more screams coming from below them, and then one of the screams rises above the rest. Isaac recognizes it. He whispers, “Lydia,” and runs toward the stairs.

He jumps down the stairs and stops at the first floor down, opening the door. There’s people rushing around, but no one screaming, so he goes down another flight. This time when Isaac opens the door, he finds chaos. Several orderlies, nurses, and doctors are surrounding a figure, penning him in. The crowd moves like fish as he dashes toward one person, gets pushed back, and then lunges for another. His dark skin looks wrong, ashen like the bodies Isaac would sneak looks at before they were sealed into their caskets and buried in his father’s cemetery.

“Don’t let him bite you!” One of the hospital workers shouts, and the figure gets pushed away from another person. Before Isaac can reach the group, two of the orderlies rush the figure, pinning him to the ground and pulling his arms behind his back. Isaac hears a snap, like bone breaking, but no one cries out in pain so he must be mistaken.

Following the sound of Lydia’s panicked breaths and her scent, Isaac finds her behind one of the curtains. There’s a bed there with a woman lying on it, Lydia standing at her side. Lydia gasps as Isaac pulls the curtain aside, visibly relaxing when her eyes land on his face. “Isaac.” She sighs and pats the woman’s hand. “Did they get him?”

“Yeah,” Isaac says, leaning back to watch the orderlies finish tying the man into some restraints. The man keeps snapping his teeth at them, like he’s trying to bite whatever he can reach. Isaac thinks the man looks more like an animal than like a person. “What was that?”

“It looked a lot like the man who bit me,” the woman says, jutting out her lower jaw when she finishes speaking. Isaac gets the weird feeling that he’s watching a grown woman pout. She holds up one of her arms, which is wrapped in a bright white bandage. 

Lydia gives the woman a shaky smile and approaches Isaac, taking one of his arms. Isaac lets Lydia lead him a few feet away. She whispers, “Did Scott send you?”

“Scott?” Isaac asks, shaking his head. “No, I was sitting with Allison.” 

Lydia’s eyes go wide. “Allison. Right.” She looks back at the woman – Isaac’s starting to guess that it’s Lydia’s mother – and then tells Isaac, “I heard the doctors talking. They’ve had three bite victims come in, just this evening.”

“Bite victims?” Isaac repeats, looking around Lydia to the woman with the bandaged arm. “Your mom?”

“Yeah.” Lydia sighs. “Look, as far as I can tell, they’ve had five or six bite victims, all since noon.”

Isaac knows the guess is wrong, but he says it anyway. “Werewolves?”

Lydia shakes her head. “People. They get bit, they go into a coma, and then they wake up and start getting all bitey.”

Isaac furrows his brows at Lydia. “You mean like zombies?”

“I don’t know okay?” Lydia snaps, looking up at the ceiling and taking a sharp breath. She lets the breath out slowly before speaking again. “All I know is I _screamed_ for my mom right before she got bit.”

Isaac’s pretty sure from her tone that Lydia isn’t talking about your normal, everyday sort of scream, but about her banshee powers, or gift or whatever. “She’s going to die?”

Lydia sounds scared and so very young when she says, “I don’t know.”

~*~

**Day 1, evening**

Derek's following Peter through a shopping center downtown when he gets Scott's call. He takes the call and puts the phone up to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Are zombies real?" Scott asks, and Derek actually stops in his tracks to rub his face with his free hand. Before Derek can tell him that no, zombies aren't real, Scott continues. "I mean, I know it's kind of a silly question, but there's a dead guy at Lydia's house. He bit Mrs. Martin."

"Maybe he was rabid," Derek says, looking over the crowd to catch sight of which direction Peter is headed. He's supposed to be showing Derek a clue about who attacked the Alpha Twins in the woods a few weeks back. Derek sees Peter turn a corner and rushes to keep up with him. He catches a whiff of something sulfury, like rotten eggs, but Derek ignores it. Someone probably put out their trash a day early.

"Derek," Scott says, admonishing him, and part of Derek wants to point out that until a few months ago, Scott was the worst werewolf ever. "Lydia says she can feel them. There are hundreds of people dying."

Derek rolls his eyes and turns the corner to find Peter waiting for him, a smirk on his lips. He meets Peter's eyes as he responds to Scott. "People die every day."

"This is different. Can you come here? Take a look at the body?" If Derek isn't mistaken, he'd say Scott sounds scared. The thought makes Derek's pulse quicken with the urge to help him. 

"I'll be there soon," Derek promises, disconnecting the call. He addresses Peter when he asks, "So? Where is it?"

Peter gestures to the building behind him. "The bullet casings you found out in the woods were manufactured at this facility up until eight years ago. Wanna take a guess at the name painted on the side?"

Derek takes a look at the building and remembers it. During one of his and Laura's trips back to Beacon Hills to visit Peter and take care of his arrangements, Derek decided to seek out any pies Kate might have had her thumbs in here in Beacon Hills. This building was one of those pies. Derek never told Laura about his investigation. There was no need. This building and everything else Kate had ever touched in Beacon Hills was boarded up and abandoned. "Argent."

A sickening feeling spreads through Derek's body. Chris Argent had been working with Derek to find Stiles and the nogitsune. How could he have had time to track the twins through the woods long enough to shoot at them?

"That's right," Peter says, though his tone is distracted and his eyeline fixed over Derek's shoulder.

Derek hears many shuffling pairs of footsteps and the smell of rotten eggs gets thicker. He turns and sees what frankly, looks like a scene from a zombie movie. Five people, each of them cloudy-eyed, shuffle along the street. One of them has a strip of bloody flesh hanging from its mouth. While there were people on the street a moment ago, all Derek hears is the far-off sound of footsteps retreating at a run.

"What is this, one of those zombie walks?" Peter asks, scoffing and moving to stand next to Derek as they watch the figures approach.

Derek's not so sure disbelief is the right tone to set here. "Peter, they don't have heartbeats." As hard as Derek tries, he cannot hear a single heartbeat from any of the figures.

Peter's mouth parts, his eyes go wide, and he tips his head, using the unbalanced pose to better place the origin of any sounds he hears. His brow furrows. "Huh. Real zombies." Grinning at Derek, he cries, "Well, you learn something new every day!"

Derek hears someone approaching from behind them, and a woman in athletic gear comes into view, running fast, headphones in her ears. She doesn't seem the least concerned about the group of zombies down the road, running straight past Derek and Peter, and toward the zombies. The zombies perk up at the sight of her, and Derek can tell already that this is going to end badly.

Breaking into a sprint from a dead stop, Derek runs after the woman, catching her wrist and pulling on her arm as gently as he can, while still getting her to stop. She cries out and turns, punching Derek in the face. Behind him, Derek hears Peter guffaw. "Don't!" Derek cries, tightening his grip on the woman's wrist. "You can't go near those things!"

"Help!" the woman cries, taking another swing at Derek. "Let go of me, you bastard!"

Having had about enough of getting punched in the face, Derek yanks the woman close and gets his arms around her, picking her up off the ground. He turns her toward the zombies, which are significantly closer than they were a few seconds ago. "Look," he tells her, glaring at Peter, who doesn't seem at all willing to help. "You don't want to be anywhere near those things. Run the other way."

Turning away from the zombies, Derek puts the woman back on her feet. She stands there dumbly, leaning to look around Derek as the zombies move closer at a rapid shuffle. She points.

Derek pushes her shoulder. "Go!"

That seems to do it. The woman gasps and backs away a few steps before turning and running away. One of the zombies jumps on Derek's back and digs its teeth into the join of Derek's shoulder and neck.

The pain, and the zombie's weight (not to mention the smell) make Derek stagger. He shifts without really meaning to, turning to face the rest of the zombies with blue eyes and fangs. Derek grabs a foot belonging to the zombie on his back and pulls, throwing the zombie at the rest of the group. Peter has two on him, though he's blocking their attacks left and right with an almost bored expression on his face.

Derek readies himself for when the others stand up and he notices out of the corner of his eye Peter throwing a punch. Peter's fist goes straight through the zombie's skull, the bone crackling like newspaper, rather than snapping like bone. While he's watching Peter take a swing at the other zombie, Derek's leg gets pulled out from under him.

Derek manages to turn the fall into a roll, pulling his leg out of the zombie's grasp and using his momentum to spin a kick toward a second zombie. Derek's boot crashes into the zombie's rib cage, caving in a large portion of its torso. It squirms on the ground, but doesn't stop moving. 

Derek pushes away the second zombie, and then faces the third. He takes out its legs with a sweeping kick and then dives onto it, wrapping his arm around its neck. A quick tug snaps the spine, but the zombie keeps moving, snapping its teeth at Derek. 

The first and second zombies are almost back on Derek when Peter kicks one of them, caving in its skull. Derek bashes against the pavement the head he's holding. It crumples like a piñata and the zombie finally lies still. 

The last zombie unsuccessfully tries to bite Derek through the arm of his jacket. He uses most of his strength to punch the zombie, which knocks it back, but doesn't kill it like Derek expects. Frustrated, Derek sinks his claws in on either side of the zombie's neck, braces his feet on its shoulders, and pulls. With a squelch, the head comes off and that zombie lays still as well. 

Derek lets the disembodied head roll from his hands with a sneer of disgust. When he looks up, Peter is holding out a hand for him. Derek takes Peter's hand and gets to his feet. "Are there any more?"

Peter tilts his head again, and Derek listens as well. There are a few far-off screams and shouts, but the area directly. While Derek looks, Peter holds Derek's shirt to the side. 

"It's almost healed already," Peter says. Derek doesn't feel at all comfortable with his neck bared to Peter, so he bats Peter's hands away and covers the wound with his own hand. 

“I think this,” Derek says, gesturing to the Argent building behind Peter, “is going to have to wait.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to do the sensible thing here, are you?”

“And what’s that?” Derek lets his hand fall away from his wound. It barely hurts anymore, healed enough that it’s likely to ache for only another few minutes. 

“Leave town,” Peter says. “We could live quite happily out in the wilderness until this all blows over.”

Derek entertains the notion for about half a second before he remembers Scott’s call. Derek may not officially be part of Scott’s pack, but Scott is starting to trust Derek, to rely on him. Scott is the only person who seems to want to protect Beacon Hills as much as Derek does, and the thought of Scott being disappointed in Derek makes his heart hurt. He levels his best glare at Peter and says, “I’m not running away from this.”

Shrugging, Peter turns away from Derek. “Suit yourself.”

Derek watches him go for a few seconds before turning and running toward his car. Scott had asked Derek to hurry, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 1, 11 pm**

Malia can’t help but pout as Stiles leads her into Deaton’s office. If it were up to her, they’d be out in town, looking for more of these zombie things. Isn’t it better to strike at and eliminate something you know is dangerous, rather than wait for it to come kill you?

They find the veterinarian in his office, listening to a small television. Malia hears the news talking about an outbreak, but they don’t know what it is exactly. Deaton turns to the four of them and asks, “Have you heard about this?”

“We’ve seen it,” Stiles says, giving Deaton a look that Malia doesn’t quite recognize. She’s starting to get a handle on interpreting people’s looks, especially Stiles’, but it’s been eight years since she was in the practice of reading people’s faces and she doesn’t remember being all that good at it as a kid.

“Here in Beacon Hills?” Deaton stands up from his desk chair. “How many?”

“We’ve seen four,” Scott tells him, and Malia mentally recites to herself Dad, Lydia’s house, two in the woods. “But I got a text from Derek that he ran into a bunch of them, too. Isaac says there’s at least one at the hospital. Lydia says _hundreds_.”

“My God.” Malia hears Deaton’s heart quicken at the news, his scent changing. He stinks of fear, and worry. “The disease must be spreading unusually fast.”

Kira clears her throat. “Could it be the nemeton?” 

Deaton shakes his head. “I don’t…”

Tired of talk without action, Malia decides to tell Deaton exactly why they’ve come to see him. “One of them bit me. That's how it spreads, right?"

“Yeeeah,” Stiles says, drawing out the word and wincing. “About that. We thought maybe a hospital wasn’t the right place to take someone who could–“ He cuts himself off and gives Malia a confusing look. 

Malia rolls her eyes. “They’re concerned that a werecoyote-zombie would be very bad. I’m telling you guys I feel fine.”

Deaton looks Malia up and down before brushing past the group of them and passing through the door. “Come with me.” He leads them into one of the examination rooms, which smells like scared dog. Deaton pats the metal examination table and says, “Hop on up. Show me where you were bitten.”

Doing as instructed, Malia sits and pulls the tattered fabric of her pants away from her calf. It looks as good as new. “See? Nothing.” She looks around at the others, her eyes landing on Stiles. Looking into Stiles’ eyes makes Malia feel more intensely than when she looks at other people. She doesn’t quite have a name for that intensity, but it’s nice. Most of the time. “I’m not human,” she tells them. “I’m not weak to your diseases.”

“While that’s usually true,” Deaton says, reaching out his hand carefully, like he’s afraid Malia is going to spook. When she keeps still, he touches her leg, frowning at it. “We’ve never seen a disease like this. It shouldn’t be scientifically possible for the _dead_ to come back to life.”

Scoffing, Stiles mutters, “Tell that to Peter Hale.”

Deaton’s eyes fall on Stiles for a moment before he backs away from Malia and crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s exactly why I’m concerned for Malia. Reanimation like this could certainly indicate involvement of the supernatural. You may not be immune."

A lance if fear strikes Malia and it takes her breath away. She reaches for Stiles, grabbing his hand in hers, and faces Deaton. "No. You're wrong. I _have_ to be immune."

Deaton looks at Malia for a moment, which makes her uncomfortable. He opens his mouth to speak, but then Malia hears someone approach the vet's office. Thinking it could be another one of those zombie things, Malia goes with the urge to get between Stiles and the sound. Malia _has_ to protect Stiles. She doesn't quite understand why, but there's no use in questioning the instinct. 

Deaton tilts his head at Malia, and then looks to Scott. Scott listens as the person opens the door and comes in. Malia doesn't hear anything distinctive, but Scott says, "It's Derek."

Malia knows next to nothing about Derek Hale. His house burned down before Malia was old enough to have heard about it. The only family he had left was Peter, who Stiles always talks about like he's a pile of feces. 

It occurs to Malia that her father is dead. She doesn't have anyone left either, except for Stiles and his friends.

Derek enters the room just inside the doorway. He asks, "Do we know what this is?"

Deaton and Scott both shake their heads. Kira tells Derek, "Zombies!"

Shooting Kira a look that Malia doesn't understand, Deaton says, "We're not sure. It's like lycanthropy, in that it spreads through a bite." Deaton tips his head at Malia, "We're unsure yet whether werecreatures are immune."

"You've been bitten?" Derek asks, his eyes wide. Malia recognizes the expression as surprise, or maybe concern. She doesn't understand why Derek would be concerned about her. They barely know each other. 

Malia tells him, "It healed."

Nodding, Derek says, "Mine did too."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Stiles cries, stepping closer to Derek. "A zombie bit you?"

Derek frowns at Stiles and raises his eyebrows. Malia doesn't understand. Is Derek going to respond?

"Where?" Stiles asks.

Derek's frown deepens. "Peter and I ran into them in the warehouse district."

Even Malia can tell that Stiles was asking a different question. She asks Derek with exasperation, "Where on your _body_ , dumbass?"

Blinking at her for a moment, Derek turns to Deaton and says, "My shoulder." He pulls aside the neck of his shirt to reveal skin that looks perfectly intact.

"See?" Malia says to the others. "He healed too. We're fine."

Deaton makes this noise that sounds uncertain, and he's doing this weird half-smile/half-frown that Malia really doesn't get. She tries to imitate the expression, because sometimes imitation gives her a clue on how she should feel, but Stiles shakes his head at her, so she stops, slumping in defeat. Deaton pats Derek's arm and says, "I think we should at least keep an eye on you two for the incubation period, just in case."

Going over to the side of the room, Deaton opens a large drawer and pulls chain after chain out of it. "I have just the arrangement."

Malia jumps away from examination table and puts Scott and Stiles between her and Deaton. The chains aren't even on her and Malia feels like the walls are starting to close in. She is not going to be _trapped_ like that, chained up like someone's pet dog. "No way."

"How long?" Scott asks, one of his hands reaching back to pat Malia on the arm. It's comforting and nice, almost as good as when she can get Stiles to curl up with her. "Do we even know? Would they have to be locked up for _days_?"

Shaking his head, Deaton says, "The news is reporting about 12 hours from exposure to catatonia."

Kira whispers, "Oh, no!"

Malia doesn't understand Kira's concern. Twelve hours is a heck of a lot shorter than several days. "Twelve hours might be tolerable," she says to Kira.

"Lydia's mom," Kira says in return, her scent turning sad and her eyes getting shiny with tears. "That's so little time."

"I didn't have any time with my dad," Malia says, and all the eyes in the room turn to her. She wonders if they've forgotten the fact that Malia's dad died tonight. "What? I'm just saying Lydia should be grateful."

Stiles wraps his arms around Malia and Scott gives her a sad look.

After a moment of silence, during which Malia pushes away her grief to deal with at a better time, Derek clears his throat. "Twelve hours is doable." He holds out his wrists toward Deaton in a show of trust Malia envies. 

After Derek gets chained to one wall of a mostly-empty storage room, Deaton gestures to Malia, who followed them there at Stiles's request. "It's your turn, Malia."

Malia tries to go to Deaton, to accept that this is for the good of the people around her, but she can't quite do it. Her breath comes short, and no amount of telling herself that it's only twelve hours makes the situation any less confining. Malia holds back a shiver and locks eyes with Stiles. "You do it."

Stiles' eyes dart over to Deaton for a moment before returning to Malia's face. Shrugging, Stiles nods. "Yeah. I can do that."

Malia sits down across the small room from Derek and breathes deeply while Stiles fastens chains around her wrists, securing them to the wall with bolts that look like they might have been built just for keeping werewolves restrained. Malia's skin itches.

Stiles sits next to Malia, resting his back against the wall, while the others slip away. He smiles at her, so Malia tells Stiles, "Thanks."

"It's only all night," Stiles replies with a shrug, sending a glance over at Derek. "It's not like I'll miss anything. Just the end of the world, is all."

Malia hears a scream from outside the building, loud enough that Stiles must hear it, too. His eyes go wide, and he starts to get up before hesitating. Stiles looks back at Malia, obviously conflicted in what he wants to do. It's annoying. "Just go," she says. "Derek will keep me company."

"Uh," Stiles says, looking back and forth between the two of them. "But what if…"

"What if what?" Derek asks. "A zombie comes in? We've already been bitten."

"Just go see what's going on," Malia urges Stiles, pushing at one of his knees as best she can with the slack she has between her wrists and the wall behind her. "We'll be fine."

Nodding, Stiles seems to think about this for a moment. Then he holds up a finger. "In case I never see you again." Then he leans forward and kisses Malia.

She's kissed Stiles a few times by now, and it feels nice. Comfortable. Malia kisses him back, because there's no reason not to.

When he pulls back, Stiles gives Malia a nervous smile. Then he turns to Derek and says, "In case I never see you again." Then Stiles holds up his middle finger. Malia's pretty sure that's a rude gesture, but Derek doesn't seem bothered. He just rolls his eyes.

Stiles leaves then, and Malia listens to him join the others. They talk about defending the building and whether something called mountain ash can keep out zombies. "What's mountain ash?" Malia asks Derek. 

Derek gives Malia a long look before opening his mouth. He explains about mountain ash and how humans can cross it, but werewolves can't. 

Malia asks, "What about werecoyotes?"

"Same thing," Derek says with a shrug, too casually for Malia's liking. "Sometimes the shape we take reflects the person we are."

Malia nods and ruminates on this for awhile. Eventually she asks, "How is it fair that my shape is based on me when I was eight? I'm a completely different person now."

Shaking his head, Derek says, "I don't know. I don't know how you shifted all the way at eight years old. Laura was seventeen before she could do it."

Malia smirks, but her smugness is short-lived. She's been trying for a month to control her shift well enough to get back in her coyote form. She asks Derek, "How old were you?"

"I've–" Derek looks away from Malia, down at his hands. "I've never been able to do it."

"Oh." Malia can't help but be disappointed. If Derek's been a werewolf his whole life and still hasn't figured it out, what chance does Malia have of learning? "Hey, if we do turn into zombies, maybe our zombie selves will know how to do it."

Derek smirks, but he doesn't laugh aloud. Malia sighs. It's going to be a long night.

After a while, Derek clears his throat. When Malia looks up at him, he asks, "When did you get the bite." He huffs a little and then adds. "The one that made you a shapeshifter, I mean."

"I wasn't bitten," Malia says, shaking her head. "I mean, unless it happened when I was a baby."

Derek shakes his head. "No, it would've killed you." He furrows his eyebrows at Malia. "Your mother died in the crash, and your father didn't. Who was their third?"

Malia shrugs. "I never met him. Why?"

"If you weren't bitten, then you're a born shapeshifter." Derek moves around a little, rubbing one wrist with the other hand. "If it was either of the parents you knew, they would've seen the signs and kept you from hurting anyone."

"So their third was a werecoyote?" Malia doesn't know what to think. She hasn't thought about her parents' third since she was little and everyone else in school had three parents, when she only had two.

"Werewolf, probably," Derek says. He shifts forward and breathes deeply through his nose. "Do you know his name?"

Malia shakes her head. "I've never even seen a picture of him. My parents never wanted to talk about him."

"Hmm." Derek leans back against the wall. He appears to be thinking about the situation, which Malia finds annoying. It's her life. _She_ should be the one thinking about her absent papa, not a stranger. Malia can't even leave. She just has to sit here, watching while Derek muses on her own personal history.

Instead, Malia closes her eyes and retraces her favorite path through the forest. 

~*~

**Day 1, Just past midnight**

John knows there's still reports of infected people attacking on the southern side of the county, but he's just spent the last ten hours trying to deal with the situation. No one even knows what's going on. John is fairly certain that the woman he just shot at point blank range was already dead, because the blow-back didn't contain any blood and she smelled worse than the boys' room after a weekend video game marathon. Still, the blowback contained brain matter and John can't stand the thought of going back out there without stopping at home for a shower and another uniform. Deputy Parrish insists that he, Perez, and Lancaster have the situation under control. 

John suspects the only control to be had is damage control at this point.

The house stands mostly dark as John pulls up to it and a sinking feeling drops into his gut. Sure, it's the middle of the night, and the lights are usually off at this time, but this isn't any ordinary night. 

He parks at the end of the driveway, to one side, noticing Stiles' Jeep isn't next to Melissa's Toyota like it should be. John waits for a moment, just to make sure no more of those _things_ approach his car, like they did on Sycamore drive earlier in the evening. 

When everything looks clear, John leaves his vehicle, one hand on his weapon and senses on alert. He gets halfway up the driveway before the front door lock creaks loudly, piercing the night air. Melissa appears in the doorway as she opens the door.

"Oh, thank god," she says, reaching out for John and pulling him into the house. "I keep getting calls and texts, but you're the first person I've seen in the flesh since noon."

John stows his weapon and hugs his wife (careful to avoid pressing the worst stains against her clean robe), closing and locking the door behind him. "Where are the boys?"

"Scott and Stiles are at Deaton's," Melissa says, leading the way back into the TV room, where she has the local news playing softly. "Isaac's still at the hospital, keeping Lydia company."

John's still getting used to the way Melissa lumps Isaac in with their sons. He's happy to help out the kid, but he doesn't know Isaac the way Melissa does. 

Breaking into John's thoughts, Melissa catches his gaze and puts a hand on his arm. "John? How bad is it out there? Really?"

"Bad," John says, stripping out of his jacket and utility belt. His jacket is a lost cause, but his shirt might be salvageable. "There's at least fifty people in Beacon County who've been infected, probably more. We gave up on containing them and started using deadly force."

Melissa gasps sadly, bringing a hand to her mouth. She points back toward the TV room as she follows him back down the hallway and up the stairs. "Are the symptoms they're reporting accurate?"

John shrugs. "By the time I'm seeing them, they're walkin' around mindless, trying to bite anything that moves. Why? What symptoms are they reporting?"

"Fever," Melissa replies as they reach their bedroom. "Followed by rapidly occurring bloodshot eyes, bruise-like formations on the skin, bleeding from the mucous membranes." Melissa takes a breath, and continues. "Then, loss of cognitive function. Heart and respiration rates decrease. Blood pressure plummets. And then total loss of consciousness."

"At what point do they get back up?" John asks, stripping out of the rest of his clothes and throwing them at the hamper in the corner. "'Cause I've seen the bruising and the bloody noses and the bloodshot eyes. Sounds like they should be in bed, not roaming around in violent packs." John takes off one of his socks and then the other.

Melissa shakes her head. "An hour later? More or less? It's killing me not to know."

John takes a look at his wife and raises his eyebrows. "Then why the hell are you here and not at the hospital?" He pauses before taking off his undershirt and boxers. Melissa's got the air conditioning turned up again because of her hot flashes.

Frowning, Melissa sighs. "I called when I saw the first news broadcast this afternoon, but Fredricks ordered me not to come in. She didn't want to risk anyone who wasn't already on shift."

"And you _listened_?" John chuckles and pulls his wife in for a kiss. "The world really is ending."

Melissa smacks John's ribs. "Don't say that!"

John shrugs. "I'm gonna clean up. You'll call the boys again? I want them back here where we can keep an eye on them."

"You mean where _I_ can keep an eye on them," Melissa says with a knowing look. She rolls her eyes and points at John. "Don't even. I know you're heading back."

"It's chaos out there, sweetheart," John says, stepping into the bathroom. "Duty calls."

As John closes the door, he's pretty sure he hears his wife mutter, "Duty sucks ass." John chuckles and, as he lets the water wet his hair, tries not to remember what one of the victims looked like with John's bullet in its brain. 

~*~

**Day 2, 1 am**

Scott turns off his phone's screen, frowning as he turns to face Deaton, Kira, and Stiles. "Mom really wants us to come home. Before this gets worse, I guess."

"Worse than beheading a person with my sword?" Kira asks, her complexion greener than normal. 

"This wave appears to be dying down," Deaton says, giving Scott a half-smile. "Why don't you three go get some rest. Come back in the morning for your friends."

"If they haven't eaten you by then." Stiles scoffs. "I can't _leave_."

"Yes, you can!" Malia calls from the other room, which makes Stiles roll his eyes. Scott thinks that if he were in her position, he'd probably say the same thing. He'd want Kira or Allison or anyone he was dating to go home and be with their family. 

"Just for a couple hours?" Scott suggests. "We can come back way before they start showing symptoms." Scott mentally kicks himself for the way that came out of his mouth. "I mean, if it were going to happen, which it's not."

Kira gives Scott an encouraging smile and a nod. Deaton nods as well, but Stiles rolls his eyes again. "I think this whole last month has proven how little sleep I actually need."

A sharp pain twists in Scott's chest at the mention of the demon that took control of Stiles' body. Watching his brother go through all of that pain and misery was something Scott can't go through again. He reaches out, putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Please? For me?" Scott gives Stiles his best and most persuasive guilt-trip look.

Stiles eyes Scott for a long moment before he rolls his head back and sighs. "Fine. You got me. I'll come home with you." Scoffing, Stiles claps Scott on the shoulder. "You know, if you weren't my brother..."

"Yeah, I know." Scott gives Stiles a sad smile, and promises himself that whatever happens, he's not going to let anything happen to Stiles. They just almost lost Allison. She's not even awake yet. No way is Scott letting something like that happen again.

As they leave Deaton's after saying their goodbyes, Scott takes Kira's hand in his. Her fingers are cold, but she gives Scott a shaky smile. "Hey," she says.

Scott's heart skips a beat, and he's glad kitsunes don't have super hearing. Scott smiles back at Kira. "Hey."

She frowns a little and then says, "I feel bad for those people–" She shakes her head. " _Zombies_ we killed in the woods."

"Yeah, me too," Scott says, wondering if their families would ever get to know what happened to them. "And they _were_ people." Scott looks down at his hands, glad he washed them off at Deaton's. He doesn't want any reminders of the life he took tonight. "I–"

Kira puts a hand on Scott's arm, and smiles sadly when he looks up at her. "Hey, it's okay. They were already dead before we got there. They would've killed Stiles."

The thought of sparing his brother death and possible zombification helps, but doesn't make Scott feel much better. What does help Scott is knowing that he and Kira stopped the zombies before someone else had to take on the burden of killing them. Scott smiles back at Kira. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Stiles joins them, giving Scott a nod, and then pulls ahead of them, getting to the Jeep first. He unlocks the door and pulls his seat forward so Kira can crawl in the back. Scott doesn't want to give up holding Kira's hand just yet, not on a night when their friends might very well be dying, so he climbs in after her.

During the ride home, Scott can smell how tense Stiles is at the wheel. The streets are deserted, which isn’t too surprising, since it is the middle of the night. Scott sees a figure walking in the middle of one of the side streets as they pass, but he doesn’t want to ask Stiles to stop. Scott tells himself the person is probably already dead, and that there’s nothing he can do for them.

As they approach their neighborhood, there’s finally another car on the road, heading the opposite direction. Scott only recognizes it as a police cruiser when the lights turn on. Stiles doesn’t even bother pulling over, he just stops in the middle of the road and rolls down his window. “Hey, dad.”

“Stiles,” Dad says through his open window. “Your brother with you?”

Scott leans forward between the seats and waves. “Hey, Dad. Kira’s with us, too.”

“What he said,” Stiles adds as Scott realizes that his butt is kind of in Kira’s face and he should probably sit back down. As Scott takes his seat, Stiles says, “So, zombies, huh?”

Through the window, Scott sees enough to know Dad is rolling his eyes. “I’d like to say no, but knowing this town…” Dad sighs. “You’ve seen a few of them?”

“Malia’s dad, Mr. Tate.” Stiles’ scent suddenly smells like regret. Kira puts her hand around Scott’s, so Scott smiles at her in the near-dark of the car.

Dad says, “Oh, man. I’m sorry to hear that, Stiles.” Then Dad cracks the joints in his neck. “Listen, you kids get home, okay? Keep an eye on your mother for me.”

“Yeah, we will,” Stiles says, pulling the car forward.

Scott waves at his dad as they pass, but he’s pretty sure Dad doesn’t see him, as his gaze is already back on the road in front of them. Scott squeezes Kira’s hand and directs his voice up toward Stiles. “What do you think we should do if Mom wants to go to work in the morning?”

“Didn’t Isaac say there’s already been one zombie there?” Stiles asks.

Kira adds, “And Lydia’s mom.”

“And Allison's there,” Scott can’t help but remember. “Maybe we should go with Mom. You know, make sure she’s safe while she’s helping.”

“Maybe we should just tie her up and not let her go,” Stiles says, like it’s a perfectly reasonable solution.

Scott flicks the back of his brother’s head. “We can’t do that! She’s our _mother_!”

Kira nods in agreement with Scott. “Maybe we can convince her not to go?”

“We’re going to have to get Lydia and Isaac from the hospital at some point,” Stiles says like he’s resigned to the fact. “And Allison, somehow.”

“Do you think she’s safe there?” Kira asks. “I mean, what if she’s all alone in her room and unconscious and a zombie gets in there?”

Scott pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send Isaac to check on her. And maybe lock her door.”

“Tell Isaac to get Lydia away from her mother before she starts getting bitey,” Stiles says, pulling onto their street. 

Scott sees someone ambling through the middle of the road, so he tells Stiles, “Slow down. Don’t run into that guy.” Kira squeezes Scott’s arm.

Stiles slows down, but he scoffs. “I should speed up. I mean, what _alive_ person would be in the street like that? What do you think? Ten points?”

Kira huffs, and Scott makes a noise of protest. “Stiles! That’s a person!”

“ _Used_ to be a person,” he says, but he does slow down enough to give the figure a wide berth. 

Through the window, Scott watches the figure turn to watch their progress and reach its arms out toward them. He shivers, glad they're almost home. 

~*~

**Day 2, mid morning**

Kira wakes up on Scott's bed alone, which isn't completely surprising, but still makes her uneasy. The first thing she does is check her phone, to see if her parents managed to leave her a message. She has a text from one of her friends in New York, which she answers as vaguely as possible. Then, Kira calls her mom's phone. It goes directly to voicemail, so she tries her dad's phone next. Nothing. It's been less than a day since she talked to them, but Kira's starting to fear the worst.

She heads downstairs after visiting the bathroom, and finds Stiles sitting at the kitchen table. "Where are the others?"

Thumbs picking at each other, hands clasped in front of him on the table, Stiles shrugs. "Scott went with Mima to the hospital. They called her in for her shift."

"Anything on the news?" Kira asks, nodding at the TV, which is on, but muted, a commercial for a car dealership playing. 

"School's canceled," Stiles says with a shrug. "They're not really saying much, except to stay inside. It's not even on national news yet."

"Really?" Kira takes her phone out of her pocket at looks at the message from her friend in New York again. "News is spreading on the internet."

Stiles stares at Kira for a moment before jumping out of his seat and grabbing a laptop from a side table. Stiles types a few words into his computer, then stares at it for a moment. He clicks a few things, scrolls around, and then looks up at Kira. “It’s all over the West Coast and spreading fast.”

“Then why hasn’t it been on TV?” Kira asks, sitting down at the table next to Stiles. “People won’t know to protect themselves.”

“Maybe because there haven’t been any official reports. Everything’s hearsay.” Stiles chews on one of his thumbnails.

Kira frowns and reads here and there from the websites Stiles clicks through in rapid progression. She gets a sinking feeling. “Maybe there haven’t been any official reports because all of the officials have been…”

“Turned into zombies?” Stiles nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Her voice soft, Kira confesses. “I haven’t heard back from my parents.”

Stiles glances at Kira quickly and then does a double take. His mouth opens and shuts a few times before he says, “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Kira replies, forcing a smile onto her face. 

“I mean, your mom is a kitsune. It’s not like they’re sitting ducks, like most people.” Stiles gives Kira half a smile.

Kira wonders who Stiles thinks _is_ a sitting duck. Maybe himself. 

She feels anxious and is not looking forward to a day spent waiting for everyone she knows and loves to show up at the house. There has to be something she can do. 

Kira gets up and starts looking through the refrigerator and cupboards. For a family of four, there isn’t actually all that much food in the house. It’s not going to last even a day if more than Stiles and Kira come back. “We need more food,” she tells Stiles. When he doesn’t respond right away, Kira throws an airline packet of peanuts that she found in the fridge at his head. “We should go get some food while it’s still light out.”

“No, yeah,” Stiles says, closing his laptop and standing up. “Good idea. Lemme just…” Stiles reaches past Kira and takes the whiteboard that was stuck by magnets to the fridge. He jots a short note that Kira can barely read before replacing the board. 

Kira thinks the note says something about what time they’re leaving and expect to be back. Kira shakes her head, wipes the board clean, and writes her own note in legible handwriting.

“That’s what I said,” Stiles says in complaint.

“And if someone besides Scott needs to read the note?” Kira smirks, which makes Stiles scoff, but he doesn’t argue the point further. “C’mon. What’s the closest grocery store?”

Kira makes sure she has her katana before she opens the door, taking a good look around to make sure they aren’t going to be surprised. “All clear,” she tells Stiles and they get on their way. 

At the end of the Stilinskis’ block, a few zombies wander around together in a group. Stiles sighs at them, a deep frown on his face.

“Know them?” Kira asks, watching as they start to walk toward the Jeep. 

Stiles shrugs and puts his foot on the accelerator, leaving them behind. “Neighbors,” he says. “The Fleischmanns. Nice triad. They have a couple kids in college.

“On the East Coast?” Kira asks hopefully.

Stiles rounds the corner and shakes his head. “One in San Francisco, one at Davis.”

They approach the grocery store soon after, and the parking lot is something of a mess, with two cars crashed into each other in the main thoroughfare in front of the store. “Park somewhere with a good escape route,” Kira suggests.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, pulling into the parking lot, and then swinging around. He parks length-wise in three or four spots, with the nose of the car toward the street, with only a short curb in between. “Nothing perishable,” Stiles says. “We gotta be quick.”

“Think they’re still taking Visa?” Kira asks, which makes Stiles snort.

“Dunno,” he says, taking a deep breath and putting his hand on the door handle. “Phones are still working.”

“Supposedly.” Kira gets her sword in hand and draws it with the same motion she uses to get out of the Jeep.

Their arrival has drawn the attention of at least three zombies, who are moving toward them. One is missing the lower part of a leg, and is hopping toward them slowly. The other two look almost like regular people, except for the unearthly way they move. Kira approaches them, her sword drawn.

“Be careful,” Stiles calls after her, a bat swinging from one of his hands. 

“You, too,” Kira calls over her shoulder, just before winding up to take her first slash at the fastest-moving zombie. She gets most of its hand and some of its throat, but doesn’t quite sever the head from the body. 

She spins with the motion of her blade and ends up stabbing the second zombie in the chest, her back to it. Kira doesn’t like how close the zombie is, so she gets away from it as fast as she can, while still holding onto her sword. The zombie clutches at a handful of her hair, but doesn’t get a good grip before she moves clear. 

The first zombie struggles, its hands on its throat, even though it’s not bleeding. Kira rolls to get behind it and uses a swift swing of her sword to take its head off completely. 

The second zombie comes at her and Kira trips for a terrifying second before regaining her footing and slashing at the zombie to keep it at bay. She backpedals to get her bearings back and notices that Stiles has gone after the other zombie. 

He swings his bat down on the one-legged zombie's head, caving in its skull. The zombie falls and Kira is left with just the one coming after her. He was a pretty big guy before he was zombified, and Kira can barely strike at him without coming into the long reach of his arms. 

With a sharp downward stroke, Kira manages to get one of the zombie's hands off. He still has one more hand for grabbing and a lot of teeth, and Kira can't stab at him without putting herself in harm's way.

"Yo, butterball!" Stiles shouts from behind the zombie, whacking him in the back with a dull thud. 

The zombie gurgles, almost angrily, and turns toward Stiles, reaching out for him. Stiles scampers away, and the zombie takes a step as if to follow. 

Fearing she won't get another chance, Kira takes several steps forward and uses the momentum to help drive her katana up through the zombie's spine and skull. 

The zombie goes limp, falling to its knees. Kira plants her foot in the center of its back and pulls her sword out of the zombie's brain. He falls forward onto the pavement. 

Stiles presses the back of his arm to his lips and mutters, "I'm gonna be sick."

"Yeah, right?" Kira looks down at her blade and frowns. It's covered in smelly zombie goo. She wipes most of it off on the third zombie's shirt.

Stiles points his bat at the store. "Let's get this over with."

The doors open automatically as they approach, so Kira steps in, ready to defend against any zombies who might be hiding inside. She listens as Stiles grabs a cart from the corral outside the door, and then grunts when he runs it into her heel. 

"Sorry!" Stiles says, his voice soft. He shrugs when Kira sends an annoyed look at him over her shoulder. 

"I'll keep my eyes up, you get what we need," she says, moving forward into the store. She doesn't see anyone, and it seems like the people are the only thing out of place.

"This is so creepy," Kira says, sticking her head around the corner to check out the next aisle. "Everyone's gone."

A rattling noise near the front of the store gets Kira's attention. Stiles must hear it too, because he scoffs, "Well, maybe not _everyone_."

Kira runs to the front end of their aisle, which is halfway down the store from the door. Near the door, there's a middle-aged man with a cart in his hands. His eyes go wide when he sees her and he throws his arms up. 

He looks harmless enough, but if the last few months have taught Kira anything, it's that appearances rarely tell you the whole story. "What do you want?" she calls to the man.

"Just food," he says, spreading his arms wider. "Diapers. Maybe a flashlight?"

Stiles pulls up from behind Kira. "Ooh, flashlights. Good idea!"

Kira lowers her sword and rolls her eyes at Stiles. The man slowly puts his hands down onto the bar of his cart. "Let's keep going," Kira says to Stiles. "I want to stop at my house on the way back."

"Uh, yeah." Stiles follows Kira into the next aisle, filling the cart as they move. Kira makes sure they get at least a couple of boxes of oatmeal and shredded wheat to balance out the Lucky Charms and Frosted Flakes (though to be honest, she'd rather eat Frosted Flakes too). "Still haven't heard from your folks?"

Kira scouts the next aisle, shaking her head. "You heard from Scott?"

"Nope."

The rest of the store is empty, and Stiles and Kira leave with a cart mounded high full of supplies. "Your dad won't arrest us for not paying, will he?"

"Are you serious right now?" Stiles' eyes scan the empty parking lot before he starts pushing the cart quickly across the pavement. "There was no one to take our money."

"It still doesn't feel right," Kira replies. She notices something out of the corner of her eye. There's movement behind one of the abandoned cars. "Stiles, hold up."

Slowing down, Stiles turns toward Kira, but he doesn't stop. "Another one?"

Whatever it is behind that car, it's not in their way. "Go quick," Kira says to Stiles. "I've got you."

Kira keeps her attention on that spot, though her gaze darts around, looking for danger. She catches a burst of movement again, but sighs in relief when a dog slinks out from behind the car, its leash still attached to its collar. _Across the way, Stiles shouts, and several plastic bags and their contents clatter to the ground. Kira looks over at Stiles as she starts running toward him, and sees that Stiles is wrestling with a zombie. He holds it out at arm's length, its teeth snapping at his face and arms._

"Stiles!" Kira cries out, rushing toward the struggle and jumping on the zombie's back. Her chokehold doesn't do much, because zombies don't breathe, she realizes. It does eventually get the zombie to let go of Stiles so it can grab at her. Once he's clear, Kira does something she's only thought about doing before. She lets her electricity loose, sending it throughout the zombie's body. 

The zombie locks up and starts convulsing. Kira lets go and the zombie falls to the ground. Stiles takes his bat to it, murmuring as he beats the zombie's head into the pavement over and over again. It's excruciating for Kira to watch, so she carefully lays a hand on Stiles' back. "It's done," she tells him. "It's time to stop."

Stiles pauses as he's about to bring the baseball bat down once more. "Shit," he says, letting the bat swing down gently. "Yeah. Sorry." 

Stiles jumps and Kira looks over her shoulder, sure she's going to see another zombie. There's nothing. When she looks back, Stiles has his phone to his ear.

"Yeah?"

Kira keeps part of her attention on Stiles, but the rest on their surroundings. She doesn't know how that one zombie could have snuck up on them. 

"He just _left_ them?" Stiles cries, tucking his bat under his phone-arm. He starts to load the groceries again, throwing them into the back seat of the jeep. "Yeah, okay. Fine." 

Kira helps Stiles with the last few bags as he hangs up his phone. She wonders how long the cell network is going to keep running. Maybe they should find some walkie-talkies or something. 

"We have to go get Malia and Derek," Stiles says to Kira, hopping in the driver's seat while Kira takes shotgun. "Deaton _left_ them alone, and now he can't get back to them."

"Deaton called _you_?" Kira asks, more surprised about that than anything else.

As he starts the engine, Stiles gives Kira a confused look. " _Scott_ called me."

Kira bites her tongue before she asks something stupid, like whether or not in their thirty second conversation Scott said something to Stiles about her. At least hearing from Scott lets her know that he's still okay, even if her name isn't on Scott's lips every hour of every day.

Deaton's office is just a few blocks away from the supermarket. Kira sees at least four zombies milling around near the door. She pinpoints the moment they notice the Jeep, because almost as one, they turn to face it. "Uh-oh," Kira says, checking how much room she has to draw out her sword.

"We can take 'em," Stiles says, stopping the Jeep a few dozen yards away. "You ready?"

Kira grabs Stiles' arm before he can leave the Jeep. "Be careful!"

"Yeah, okay _mima_ ," he says, voice thick with sarcasm. There's a darkness in his expression that makes Kira think her warning was taken at least somewhat seriously.

Kira swings her sword a few times as they close the distance, to make sure she has the weight and balance of it. Taking the head seems like the quickest way of putting these things down – and that's what Kira's doing, putting they down like rabid dogs.

Except they used to be people. Even though they look like monsters, it breaks Kira's heart to chop through the zombies one after the other. She takes out three to Stiles' one, and they haven't even attracted the attention is the zombies across the street. 

"So gross," Stiles murmurs, wiping off his bat on the zombie's clothes. "Is it just me or is that getting easier?"

Kira watches another group round the corner at the end of the block and start heading in their direction. "I wouldn't celebrate just yet. Let's get inside."

Stiles opens the vet's door and steps inside. Kira backs toward the door, her eyes on the group heading in their direction, their shamble turned to a faster walk. 

Kira takes one step, and then another. She backs into something solid, but it doesn't feel like anything she's ever felt before. There's this energy to the wall. Looking over her shoulder, Kira sees Stiles on the other side of the barrier, his mouth open in surprise. "What is it?"

“Mountain Ash,” he says, dropping to his knees and scrubbing his hands over the base of the doorway. Nothing happens. “Where the–“ Stiles jumps to his feet and pulls out his phone, telling Kira, “Hang on a minute.”

Groaning with exasperation, Kira turns back toward the group of zombies moving toward her. She thinks that it’s weird that the zombies would team up with each other, if they’re really as mindless as they seem. Maybe it has something to do with their shared smell. Kira wrinkles up her nose in anticipation of the moment when she’ll be able to smell them.

“Come on!” Stiles cries from behind the barrier, stomping around. “Scott’s not picking up!”

Kira ignores the way her heart drops into her stomach. She tells Stiles (and herself), “He probably doesn’t have a signal.”

“Yeah, right,” Stiles says sarcastically, putting a hand through the barrier like it’s not even there and placing it on Kira’s shoulder. “I’m gonna check on the others, see if they know how to break it. You good?”

Kira looks at the group of zombies. There has to be at least six of them, but the way they’re clustered together makes them difficult to count. She swallows nervously, but it’s not like she can ask Stiles for help without feeling horribly guilty should he get hurt or bitten. “Yeah. Sure!” Kira smiles at Stiles over her shoulder and gives him what she hopes is an encouraging nod. “I’m sure Derek knows what to do.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Don’t count on it.”

Without Stiles at her back, Kira feels vulnerable. She feels trapped, with her back against this wall that shouldn’t be here. Her instincts tell her that this is not a situation she wants to be in. Hesitating only as long as it takes to look back at the empty doorway, Kira pushes away from the vet’s building and moves out into the empty parking lot. 

She’s closer to the zombies, but they were coming for her anyway. At least now she has room to breathe.

~*~

Stiles runs back through Deaton’s office, heading straight for the room where he’d watched Malia and Derek get chained up. Before he gets there, he spots a pool of dark liquid on the hallway floor. Breath caught in his throat, Stiles ignores his swiftly beating heart and carefully creeps closer. A voice from inside the room croaks, “Stiles!”

It sounds more like a plea for help than a warning, so Stiles closes the distance quickly, stopping in the doorway. Both Malia and Derek are still chained to the wall, Malia looking up at him and Derek sagging, unconscious or maybe dead. Malia’s shirt is covered in what looks like dried blood. Derek’s clothes are torn and there’s a deep wound across one of his sides. The floor around them is littered with at least three bodies. It’s hard to tell if there’s more, because they’re all torn to pieces. “Oh, my god,” Stiles whispers.

“Get the key,” Malia tells him, nodding past his shoulder. Turning around, Stiles sees a key hanging on a hook directly across the hallway. It’s in full view of Malia, and probably Derek, and it seems cruel to Stiles. They shouldn’t have had to spend all night trapped, able to see the source of their freedom just a few feet out of reach. Stiles rips the key from its hook. 

Turning back, he goes directly to Malia, kneeling next to her and fitting the key into the locks at her wrists with shaking hands. “What happened?”

“What does it look like?” Malia asks, shoving her foot against one of the bodies. “Zombies got in.”

“But you guys are okay?” Stiles unlocks the last cuff, the one on Malia’s left ankle. “Is Derek…?”

Derek’s voice croaks out from across the room, “Still alive.”

Stiles doesn’t examine his intense relief at that fact. Instead, he give Maila a quick hug and then crosses the room to free Derek. “And not zombified. That’s good, right?”

“Deaton thinks we’re immune,” Malia says, stretching her arms above her head and bending her back as she stands. “We heal too quickly.”

Stiles nods, but doesn’t know how to reply. It feels like one more thing all the werewolves and whatever have over him. Super strong. Super senses. Can’t be turned into zombies. It doesn’t seem fair.

Still, being a werewolf does come with some disadvantages. “Good news and bad news,” Stiles says, finishing unlocking Derek’s cuffs and giving him a hand up. “Good news is that Kira and I managed to score a bunch of supplies.”

“What’s the bad news?” Malia asks, leading the way from the room. Derek shambles after them, and if it weren’t for the lack of death-smell from him and the coherent speech, Stiles would almost think Derek _had_ been zombified.

“There’s a mountain-ash barrier at the doorway. Kira couldn’t get past it.” Stiles hurries ahead of Malia and toward the still-open door. He peeks out and sees Kira fighting too many zombies. “Shit.” He heads through the doorway, only to practically jump out of his skin when a zombie comes up from beside him, moaning and grabbing for him. 

Stiles will forever avow that the noise that came out of his mouth as he leapt back toward Malia and Derek wasn’t so much a scream as a manly yell. Stiles gets to the other side of the mountain ash barrier and throws himself behind Malia, who looks far more up for battle than Derek. Malia crouches, ready to grab the zombie as soon as it crosses the barrier. 

The zombie groans again and changes direction, following after Stiles, its arms outstretched. The zombie looks like it used to be a pretty big guy, and it’s wearing a yellow Hawaiian-print shirt covered in pineapples. It shuffles towards the door and stops when its hands run into the mountain ash barrier. It pushes against the barrier, but nothing happens.

“It can’t get through,” Derek says, pulling Stiles behind him, like that’s going to do anything. The zombie can’t get to any of them. 

Stiles looks over Derek’s shoulder and past Malia, out toward where he last saw Kira. She’s not there anymore, and neither are the zombies she was fighting. “Shit,” he says, pointing out the door. “Where’s Kira?”

Malia tilts her head for a moment before saying, “She’s still fighting. Getting some more space.”

“We have to get out there and help her,” Stiles insists. God knows he does _not_ want to be the one who breaks it to his brother that Kira got hurt, or dead. 

“How do we break the mountain ash?” Malia asks, looking to Stiles, who shrugs.

“Don’t know. There’s no line for me to break this time.”

Derek clears his throat and points up to the top edge of the door jamb. Stiles raises an eyebrow at him and then moves closer to the door, going up on his tiptoes. It does look like there’s something up there. Stiles grasps at the jamb and wipes, black dust coming away with his fingers at the same time the zombie falls through the doorway.

The zombie’s nails scratch at Stiles’ shoulder as it grabs him, but before it gets much traction, Malia has its head twisted halfway off. With another loud crack, Malia pulls the zombie’s head off, some of its skull caving in under her hands. She grins at Stiles and says, “I think I’m getting good at this.”

Stiles rolls his shoulder, wincing. At least the zombie didn’t break through his shirt. That probably means he’s not infected. “Let’s get good at this in Kira’s direction. Scott’ll kill me if we don’t get her back home in one piece.”

“She went this way,” Malia says, tugging on Stiles’ arm.

Following after her, Stiles takes a moment to look back at Derek, who seems alright, if a bit slower than usual. Looking at Derek’s injuries, Stiles has to ask, “If they can’t get past mountain ash, how did those zombies get to you?”

“Deaton hadn’t set it yet,” Derek replies, taking a few larger steps to catch up with Stiles. “They got past him. They thought we’d make fish in a barrel, I guess.”

“I’m not sure these things have any thoughts, period.” Stiles shakes off how creepy that says to say out loud. He spots Kira ahead of them, her boot holding one zombie down as she fights off two others. 

Malia moves in quickly to help her, while Derek stalks up and smashes the zombie on the ground by jumping on its head and letting his weight do all of the work. If this really is the zombie apocalypse, and not just some weird Beacon Hills thing, Stiles is glad he’s got the friends he does. It makes his chances of survival about a zillion times better, he thinks.

~*~

**Day 2, 1 pm**

“Hey, Lydia,” a voice says, and Lydia looks up to see Mrs. Stilinski coming into the area where Lydia’s mother has slipped out of consciousness. Scott is right behind her. “How’re you doing?”

“The doctor said she could go any minute,” Lydia says, pointing to the restraints wrapped around her mother's wrists. They ran out of the padded kind a few hours ago, so Lydia's mother is tied to the bed using belts. One of the belts is pink and sparkly. Lydia thinks that her mother would like it, if she were awake.

Over the past few hours, Lydia has tried to get her father, or her mima—or God, even the woman they're dating now—on the phone. No one has answered. No one's there to know that Natalie Martin is dying. 

Melissa Stilinski puts a gentle hand on Lydia's shoulder. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"My life back?" Lydia says, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. She loves the way her hair looks, but it does get in the way sometimes. When Lydia looks up, Mrs. Stilinski is still looking at Lydia, eyebrows high on her face. Sheepishly, Lydia adds, "There's nothing."

"Okay." Mrs. Stilinski checks on Mom's charts and vital signs, none of which are good, and then leaves. Scott doesn't go with her.

Instead, Scott sits on the arm of Lydia's chair. It's a long moment before Lydia gives into temptation and turns, pulling Scott down into a hug. "She's dying," Lydia murmurs against Scott's shoulder. "Everyone here is _dying_."

"Is that what the doctor said?" Scott asks, his voice careful and low.

Laughing humorlessly, Lydia pulls out of the hug. "They didn't have to. I can feel it. This whole town is a graveyard."

Scott visibly shivers, which Lydia doesn't have time to feel bad about. She asks him, "Who's still alive?"

"My parents, as far as I know," Scott says, putting both hands on his knees. "Stiles. Kira. Malia and Derek. Isaac." He pauses, knuckles going white as he squeezes his knees. "Allison."

Briefly, Lydia wonders if this outbreak is going to spread as far as London. It's very far away, so maybe Jackson will be okay. "Do we know where this is coming from?"

"As best we can tell?" Scott shrugs and clasps his hands in front of him. " _Here _. In Beacon Hills."__

"Why is it always here?" Lydia asks with a scoff. Scott doesn't answer her, but it's okay. She's not expecting an answer. 

Lydia doses as she watches the blips on her mother's heart monitor space out farther and farther apart. An alarm sounds for a minute or two until a nurse comes by, silencing it. He gives Lydia a sad look as he tightens the straps around her mothers wrists and ankles. "I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do."

Lydia whispers, "I understand," and watches as the blips on the monitor fade away.

Scott must notice too, because he shifts on his feet. "Did they tell you how long?"

"There's a lot of misinformation. I've heard anywhere from five minutes to three hours," Lydia says, leaning forward and brushing the pad of her thumb down the back of her mother's hand. "Frankly, five minutes is ridiculous. I mean, assuming this thing is a virus, the polymerization rate _alone_ –"

"It might not be," Scott says. 

Lydia raises her eyebrow at him. 

"A virus or whatever." The tips of his ears going red, Scott looks down. "Stiles texted a few minutes ago. The infected people can't pass through mountain ash."

"Just like werewolves." Lydia opens her mouth to ask more, when she feels her mother's death. It's a sudden emptiness in her head and Lydia has to cover her mouth with both hands to muffle the scream.

Scott's eyes go wide and he grabs Lydia by the elbow, pulling her behind him. Lydia can't bring herself to look, though she hears her mother's body stirring. "Is it bad?" she asks Scott, burying her face against his shoulder. "Is she–"

Arm around Lydia's shoulders, holding her close, Scott says, "It's not her."

Pitiful wailing fills the room and it sounds too much like her mother's voice. Lydia has to look. Immediately, she wishes she hadn't. The figure on the bed has Mom's face, it's wearing her clothes and has her hair, but the way it _moves_ has nothing of Natalie Martin's grace and poise. Her skin is sunken, and so ashen it almost looks blue. The whites of her eyes are blue as well. When Lydia breathes in, the smell of rotten eggs assaults her nose. 

Lydia remembers the chemical formula. Hydrogen sulfide. The gas is poisonous, and it can only be coming from one source – Mom. Lydia chokes on a sob. "She shouldn't be this way," Lydia tells Scott. "She wouldn't– She wouldn't want us to see her like this."

"Should I go find the doctors? Maybe they can do something." Scott squeezes Lydia's wrist.

"Yeah," Lydia says, though she very much doubts they're going to do anything, save maybe sever Mom's spinal cord. That's the only way to stop this condition, isn't it? The man at Lydia's house last night kept moving until Kira destroyed his brain.

Lydia vaguely notices when Scott stops hovering and leaves the room. Without him there to stop her, Lydia gives into the temptation to move closer, to inspect the body and make sure there's nothing left of her mother. 

The body jerks against its restraints, trying to get up, trying to get to Lydia. 

"Mom?" Lydia asks, knowing its futile, but knowing that she has to ask. 

Struggling harder, the body grimaces at Lydia, her eyes unfocused, and still somehow malignant. 

Lydia steps closer to the bed, putting her hands on the rail and looking down on her mother's remains. "I'm sorry this happened to you," Lydia says, wiping a tear from her cheek with one hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough to save you."

A great shiver wracking her body, Lydia says, "I'm sorry I didn't know this was coming until it was too late."

Mom growls, struggling against the belts around her wrists and ankles. The sparkly belt snaps, letting mom grab one of Lydia's wrists.

Shrieking, her heart up in her throat with terror, Lydia pulls back as hard as she can. If her mother were still alive, it would have been enough to free herself. This new version of Mom is stronger, again like a werewolf. Nails dig into Lydia's skin and Lydia hopes it's not enough to transfer whatever it is that kills. She wants to live, she doesn't want to scream for her own life.

Well, she does scream, but it's more of a, "Help me, someone!" than a death omen.

Isaac bursts into the room, grabbing the zombie's arm and snapping it back. It lets go of Lydia and hisses at Isaac. Lydia falls away from the bed, sprawling on the floor, and just managing to catch herself before her head hits the linoleum. 

Isaac crouches down, helping Lydia up. "Are you okay?"

Lydia hides the scratches against her side. "Fine." She manages to give Isaac a grateful smile, and if her smile is more like a grimace, she's sure Isaac will forgive her. "Thank you."

When Lydia's back on her feet, Scott comes in, his mother and one of the doctors at his back. Scott looks back and forth between Lydia and Isaac before putting a gentle hand on Lydia's uninjured arm. "You're not going to want to be here for this."

"For what?" Lydia asks. She has a sinking feeling she knows the answer. 

Scott opens his mouth, but doesn't give Lydia an answer. Instead, he goes over to the bed and helps his mother grab Lydia's mom and tie her down again. The doctor catches Lydia's eye. She says, "I'm sorry, but your mother is gone."

Lydia's anger bubbles up her throat and speaks for her. "How do you know that? She's moving, isn't she?"

The doctor holds out her hands toward Lydia, her tone even more placating. "We don't know how they move without heart beats, but we know that they no longer have function outside the brain stem."

"You've done EEGs?" Lydia asks, preening internally when the doctor's eyes go wide with surprise.

Nodding, the doctor says, "Yes. We've been able to do them on three of our patients."

"Three's a pattern," Lydia mutters to herself. In a louder voice, she asks, "How are you going to do it?"

The doctor swallows, searching Lydia's face for a moment. Then she answers, "We use a scalpel to make a laceration in the brain stem. Post-mortem movements cease quite rapidly."

"Yeah, I'll bet." 

Lydia takes one more look at the zombie. She knows her mother is no longer there, she felt her mother die. That doesn't mean that Lydia's ready to let go.

Well, the world never waits for one to be ready, does it? "Fine," Lydia says, turning her back on the room and grabbing at Isaac. She opens the door and brings Isaac with her into the hallway, which is peaceful now. There are still supplies strewn around and a few items tipped over, but these things have been pushed to the side of the hallway, leaving the center walkway clear. "Will you come back to Scott's with me? I really don't feel like driving alone."

"Uh," Isaac says, his focus shifting back toward the room where some doctor is putting down Lydia's mother for the final time. After a moment, Isaac nods. "Yeah, I could do that."

Looking Isaac up and down, Lydia notices the creases in his shirt and the dark circles under his eyes. "How long have you been here with Allison?"

Scratching his eyebrow, Isaac shrugs. "A few days maybe. They kick me out of her room sometimes. Been sleeping up in the maternity waiting room."

Lydia rolls her eyes at Isaac. "Scott will keep an eye on Allison. She'll be fine while you come get some rest." Lydia doesn't say out loud her hopes that Isaac will keep her safe from any zombies they run into on the way to Scott's house. She's gotten a few texts from Stiles, each one confusing her more than the last. At least, _werewolves immune to zombies_ , made sese. From now on, Lydia wants a werewolf with her wherever she goes. There's no way it's going to be her in that hospital bed, being put out of her misery with a scalpel to the brain stem. She has too much left to do in her life. It's not ending here.

"C'mon. Let's go."

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 2, 4 pm**

By the time they reach the Stilinski house (Derek rides in the back of the Jeep with the groceries, while Stiles, Kira, and Malia sat in the three front seats), Derek feels almost healed. The zombies who came after him and Malia weren't exactly hard to fight, had he not been restrained. Every time he'd gone to hit one with his claws, to deliver that killing blow, his arm came up short. Plus, there had been about five of them versus him, so it had taken awhile to deal with the others while one of them scratched-at and gnawed on his side.

The nice thing about being stuck in the back with the groceries is that Derek gets first dibs on some of the granola bars Stiles and Kira had gotten. It's been almost a day since Derek has eaten, and it isn't easy replacing lost blood without a hearty meal to back it up.

Derek ignores most of how Stiles and Malia and Kira talk amongst themselves as he helps get the supplies into the house. Stiles turns on the TV as soon as they get in the door and Derek finds himself surprised that the power is still working. He wonders how long it will last. His parents' house out in the preserve used to lose power after almost every storm, because some tree or other would hit the suspended power lines.

"It's spreading east," Stiles says, like the rest of them aren't listening to the same news report as he is. "How long until they figure out it's all Beacon Hills' fault and nuke us from space?"

"Can they do that?" Kira asks as she starts unloading canned goods and stuffing them in the Stilinskis' cabinets. 

The house is older, but it has more cabinets than Derek would have expected. Derek has a stove and a small refrigerator in his apartment, but the cabinet space is nonexistent. It's probably a good thing they've come here, even if the Stilinski house isn't nearly as defendable and easy-to-clean after a fight as Derek's loft.

"Probably," Stiles replies to Kira's question, starting his own unpacking. He slaps Derek's hands away when Derek tries to help. 

The rumble of a car approaches, and Derek tracks it, assuming it will pass. While there are a lot of zombies wandering around town, he doubts that every single person besides the ones Derek cares about, has been turned into one. The car slows down as it nears the Stilinski house, and Derek notices that the particular whine of the engine sounds a lot like a police cruiser. 

He hears the Sheriff and Deputy Parrish speaking to each other, so he tells Stiles, "Your dad is home."

"Thank _God_ ," Stiles says, dropping what he's doing and rushing toward the front door. Derek almost smiles at the way Stiles slides across the hardwood flooring in his socks. "Dad!"

"Hey," the Sheriff says, hugging Stiles quickly before passing him and entering the house. "Everyone okay? Who's all here?"

Stiles follows the Sheriff past Derek, telling him all about the day they've had. Parrish pauses at Derek, giving him a tired, but encouraging smile. Derek doesn't know how to feel about that smile, so he tries to ignore it. His face smirks back despite his wishes.

Eventually, the Sheriff rubs at his eyes and says, "You know what? I need some sleep. Parrish and I have both been awake how long now?"

"Thirty-four hours, sir," Parrish says in reply, scratching at one temple. 

The Sheriff points at Parrish. "Right. Deputies Lincoln and Huang are holding the office, for now. We'll relieve them in the morning."

"If they make it til morning," Derek hears Parrish whisper to himself.

The Sheriff points around at Derek, Malia, and Kira. "Will you three be okay keeping watch in shifts."

"Of course," Derek answers. Malia nods. Kira winces until Derek says, "I can take first shift."

"I can stay up, too," Stiles says, holding up one hand. "I want to make sure Scott and Mima get home okay."

Another car's engine noise slips into Derek's hearing range. On a normal evening, the streets in the Stilinski neighborhood would have plenty of cars driving around.This is not a normal evening. Derek tells the others, "Someone else is coming."

Stiles' phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks at the screen. "Lydia and Isaac," Stiles says, first to Derek, then looking around at the others. "Lydia's mom must have..."

"That took longer than twelve hours," Kira says from the doorway, giving Derek a worried look. "What if..."

Derek hears his own heartbeat skip into overtime. He can't stand the thought of being chained up again. He barely survived the first time without those creatures ripping him apart at the seams. Derek _won't_ do it again.

"It's Lydia's mom," Stiles says with a shrug, his eyes darting over to Malia, who's standing behind Kira. "Her _bio_ mom. You don't think Natalie Martin could hold on a few extra hours if she wanted to?"

During the bustle of Lydia and Isaac arriving at the house and Stiles deciding where they're all going to sleep, Derek steps back for awhile. He finds a quiet corner of the house—a study full of dusty bookcases and an overstuffed couch—and stays there, out of the way.

After a few minutes of looking at the books, Derek notices something thin sticking out of one of them. Curiosity gets the better of him and Derek takes the book off the shelf. The book, which is a nursing manual, opens to the item, and it's a photograph. He recognizes a much younger Melissa Stilinski, and she's with another girl her same age. They're probably in late high school or early college. Melissa has her arms wrapped around the other girl, whose mouth is open wide with laughter to match Melissa's grin. Derek would guess she was an old girlfriend, but he has a feeling there's more to it than that. 

It strikes him that this girl looks a lot like Stiles. It must be his mother in the picture, Melissa and the Sheriff's late spouse. On the back of the picture, it says, "Delgado and Claud horsing around, 1986". 

Derek's heart hurts for them as he puts the picture back between the pages and slips the book onto the shelf. He sits down on the couch and puts his head in his hands. 

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, Derek notices someone set a mountain ash barrier around the house. The assurance that any zombies won't get into the house is balanced by the trapped feeling that makes the back of Derek's throat ache.

The house quiets until there's just one set of feet roaming around. A few minutes later, Stiles passes the study door, then doubles back, coming into the room. "Oh. You're here."

"Should I not be?" Derek asks, failing to summon the will to stand up.

"No, no," Stiles says, taking another step into the room. "It's cool."

Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles, hoping his expression conveys the disbelief he feels.

Stiles looks away and throws his arms out at his side. "I don't know! We don't really use this room."

The comment reminds Derek of the picture he'd found. He takes an educated guess. "It was your mom's room."

"Yeah," Stiles says, looking past Derek. He picks up his hand and scratches the bridge of his nose. "This was like _her_ space. Didn't feel right to…"

"I get it," Derek says, shifting over to make space for Stiles on the couch. Derek's surprised when Stiles actually takes him up on the offer and sits down.

Stiles nods."I guess you know what it's like. Losing people."

Derek tilts his head affirmatively. "When did she pass?"

"Scott and I were eight. He dealt with it better than I did." Stiles leans back on the couch, tilting his head back and exposing his throat. He sighs. "Never could figure out if it's 'cause she was his mima, not his mom, or 'cause he's Scott."

"I'd bet because he's Scott," Derek says. "I wouldn't know about mimas."

"You had two dads?" Stiles turns halfway in his seat to look at Derek. "Were they both werewolves?"

Derek smiles at the memory of his parents together, the way they'd waved him off when he'd driven back to school that last time before the fire. "No," he tells Stiles. "They were both human."

"Really?" Stiles' voice cracks on the word. "In a family full of werewolves?"

Shrugging, Derek tells Stiles, "My pop grew up in a werewolf family. My dad–" He laughs at the way his mother used to tell the story. "Mom saved Dad. He almost got eaten by a bear."

Stiles' jaw drops open. "There's such a thing as a were _bear_?"

Derek can't help but chuckle. "Maybe. I don't know. This one was a real bear. Dad was hiking through the preserve and got caught between a bear and her cubs. Mom scared the bear away before it could hurt him."

Stiles nods and remains quiet for a moment before he asks, "What were your fathers' names?"

"Aaron and Rick. They both took my mom's last name."

Stiles scoffs and says, "Man, if my wife was a badass freaking alpha werewolf, I'd take her name too!"

Sharing a nod and a smile with Stiles, Derek takes a deep breath. He lets it out slowly and silence settles over the room. 

Stiles makes a few small movements here and there before finally leaning forward and putting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He mutters, "This is bad, isn't it?"

Derek doesn't believe in sugar coating. "Yep."

"Is this..." Stiles holds his breath for a moment. His heart skips a beat. "Could this be the nogitsune?"

"I've never heard of something like this," Derek says, which he realizes amounts to nothing more than, "I don't know."

"I don't know, either." Stiles presses at his eyes with his knuckles. "I had the damn thing in my head, and I don't..."

Derek's heart drops. This weariness he senses coming off of Stiles isn't as much having been up too many hours. It's guilt. Derek can smell it on him now. No. Derek can't let Stiles be the one who feels guilty. 

"Stiles, _no one_ saw this coming."

Stiles shrugs, acknowledging what Derek has said, but that doesn’t mean he’s actually absorbed the intent. 

“Stiles,” Derek says again, getting closer to Stiles to better put himself in Stiles’ line of sight. “There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this. And yeah, this is really bad. The news on the TV in the other room says it’s starting to show up in places all over the country. Maybe it didn’t even come from Beacon Hills.”

Scoffing, Stiles points out, “The zombies can’t cross mountain ash. It has to–“ 

“The Oni couldn’t cross mountain ash either, and they’re originally from Japan. Beacon Hills doesn’t have a monopoly on the supernatural.” Derek sighs, leaning away from Stiles and sitting back into the plush, if dusty, couch. 

“Seems that way sometimes, doesn’t it?” Stiles chuckles, biting on his thumbnail as he sits back as well. “How are we supposed to save people from _this_?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe we’re just supposed to survive it.”

~*~

**Day 2, 6 pm**

Scott slips into Allison’s room while he’s sure his mom is safe taking care of one of her long-term patients. There haven’t been any slip-ups for at least an hour, even though the number of people coming into the hospital keeps increasing. It’s hard watching Mom and her coworkers try to treat all the bite victims, because no one has any idea how to stop the disease. The best they can do is make the person comfortable, tie them up, and then put them out of their misery when the time comes.

The whole hospital is starting to smell like a really bad fart. One of the doctors mentioned the smell being toxic, so the fans for the air ventilation system have been working overtime for the past few hours. Scott doesn’t think he’s ever going to get the smell out of his nose.

Allison’s lying still in her bed, her heart monitor beeping steadily and her lungs moving up and down like they should. Mom said they took her off the ventilator a few days ago, but they’re keeping her sedated because of the swelling in her brain. 

Scott’s terrified that Allison won’t ever wake up, or that when she does, she’s not going to be the person Scott fell in love with. 

He’s terrified Allison’s going to wake up before he can figure out how to stop the zombies from coming. Scott’s been able to get through everything so far, he’s been able to find the answer, or has friends who’ve found the answer. This has to be the same, right?

Scott puts his hand on Allison’s wrist, finding her skin warm and dry. The simple touch sets off a chain reaction of emotions in him – fear, grief, anger, hopelessness – and Scott has to choke back a sob. “I wish you were here,” Scott says to her, sitting on the edge of Allison’s bed and wrapping his hand around her wrist. “I wish I could talk to you about what I’m supposed to do. How do I choose between protecting the people I love, and protecting everyone else?”

Allison doesn’t respond. 

Scott sniffles and wipes his face against his shoulder. 

A scream coming from somewhere in the hospital makes Scott pause his breath, like that will help him hear. It comes again, definitely a scream of fear, rather than pain or grief. Another zombie is loose. Scott’s heartbeat races under the fear that something will happen to his mother when he’s not there to protect her. He has to choose between finding and protecting his mom, who isn’t exactly helpless, or staying here and protecting Allison.

Scott figures that at least Allison won’t go looking to help other while she’s like this. Scott’s mom, on the other hand, will just run _toward_ the trouble. Scott sighs and stands, giving Allison’s wrist one last pat. He says, “I’ll be back for you,” and turns, leaving the room. 

There’s no way to lock the room from the outside, so Scott barricades the door to Allison’s room the best he can before can’t help but run toward the screaming. 

Scott heads toward his mom’s voice, and like he expected, she’s not far away from where a pack of six or seven zombies is terrorizing the emergency room. One terrified bite victim is strapped to a gurney, screaming as a zombie approaches him. Scott’s mom is at the man’s side, using an IV stand to keep the zombie away from both of them. 

Red washes over Scott, his anger overtaking him at the sight of one of these monsters trying to hurt _his mother_. With a roar, his fangs dropping out like second nature, Scott leaps over an upturned stool and slams into the zombie, sending it to the ground. He uses one fist to pound the zombie’s head into the floor, doing it once. Twice. Three times. The zombie stills, its skull caved in.

“Thanks,” Mom says breathlessly, setting down the IV stand. “I’ve got things here, you go take care of the others.”

Scott gives his mom a nod, slurring through his fangs as he says, “Okay.”

Between Scott, the two security guards left on duty, and a very, very large orderly, they manage to take care of the rest of the zombies. They can't quite do it before the zombies tear at least two people to shreds and bite one of the nurses. Scott knows the woman’s life is over now, and by the look on her face, she knows it too.

Scott sees the decision happen on her face, but he can’t get to her before she takes the security guard’s gun, presses the muzzle to the side of her head, and pulls the trigger. Scott staggers at the sound and the sight of the nurse’s body crumpling to the ground next to the shocked security guard, who’s painted with her blood. Behind him, Mom cries, “Oh, Sylvia!”

Mom’s eyes stay with the body as Scott pulls her away. Eventually, they manage to turn the corner and Scott can finally get Mom to look at him. “We can’t stay here,” he says, clutching Mom’s arms and hoping she understands him. “Mom. We _can’t_.”

“We’re not doing anyone much good anymore are we?” she asks, pushing one hand back over her hair. “How can I just _leave_ my patients, Scott? Most of them are tied up. They’re sitting ducks!”

Scott hates the words as they come out of his mouth, even though he knows they’re right. “They’re already dead.” The horror dawning across Mom’s face makes Scott feel sick. He tells her, “If I could stay with every one of them, and help them pass on peacefully, I would. Right now? Right now I just want to keep you safe.”

“I get that,” Mom says, voice breathy, her eyes a dozen yards past Scott's shoulder. One of the security guards shouts from outside the ER doors. Scott wonders if any of them are still going to be alive when the sun comes up. Mom shakes her head. "What about Allison?"

"We can't leave her," Scott insists. "When can we wake her up?"

Mom looks at her watch. "Her doctor was going to keep her sedated for another 48 hours, but her doctor isn't answering his phone, so he's probably dead." Mom smiles at Scott and shrugs one shoulder. "I'll take her off the meds now. It'll be a few hours before she wakes up."

"Will she wake up?" Scott asks. As far as he's been able to figure out from second-hand accounts about Allison's condition, they're not sure she'll ever wake up.

Mom puts a hand on Scott's face, giving him a sad smile. "Let's hope so."

"You're not giving me much confidence, here, Mom." Scott grabs her wrist and gently tugs in the direction of the long-term care unit. "We have to at least try."

Mom sighs, but follows Scott toward the stairwell that heads up. "Fine. I guess standard operations aren't relevant any more. I'd feel more comfortable if we could find a _doctor_."

At the door to the stairwell, Scott pauses, turning to face his mother. "Mom, you know just as much as any doctor who ever worked here. I know you can do it."

Mom smiles and shakes her head, before jumping when something crashes at the end of the hallway. She presses Scott closer to the door and says, "Get me up there, sweetheart. I'll do the rest."

Nodding, Scott takes a deep breath and opens the stairwell. He's not sure what he expected, but a zombie (who used to be a large woman, wearing a nice green dress and paisley tights) chewing on the body of a doctor wasn't it. Mom shrieks and the zombie glances up at them before returning to its meal. Scott winces, but springs into action.

It's not like he can let the zombie keep eating what used to be a person. 

Scott swipes at the zombie with his claws, pushing her away from the body. She falls back, snarling, and hits her head on the railing. The zombie bounces off the railing and falls, catching itself halfway down the flight of stairs heading down toward the hospital basement. Its legs kick out at Scott, but it has trouble getting turned around so it can come back at Scott.

If it wasn't so terrifying, it would be funny.

On its way crawling back up the stairs, the zombie grabs at Scott's ankles. He dodges and kicks it in the head, sending it tumbling down the stairs. There's a loud crack and when the zombie hits the landing below, it doesn't get up again.

A squelching noise draws Scott's attention back to the doctor's body. Mom stands over the zombie's body, holding its head turned to the side as she draws a scalpel from the back of its neck. "Sorry, Murry," she murmurs, turning the body's head back and closing its eyes. Then mom eyes the scalpel, frowning at it.

"What?" Scott asks, watching as Mom's hands begin to shake. "What is it?"

"It's infectious," she says, eyes jumping up to Scott's face. "Or it could be. We know it's transmitted by saliva-to-blood. Why not blood-to-blood?"

Scott kneels down on the other side of Murry-the-doctor's body and wraps his hand around Mom's to steady it. He uses the other hand to take the scalpel from her, saying, "I'm immune."

Half a smile crossing her face, Mom lets out a heavy breath. "I should teach _you_ to do this."

Holding out his free hand, Scott lets his claws out. "Got my own scalpels and everything."

Mom chuckles. She takes something out of her front scrubs pocket and holds it out to Scott. "The shield," she says, letting Scott take it from her. "It goes over the sharp end."

Scott turns the shield until it looks right and slips it over the sharp end of the scalpel. "There." He holds it out to Mom, who shakes her head.

"I don't want to be anywhere near it," she says, standing up and looking up the staircase.

Scott puts the scalpel in Murry's pocket and joins her. "Allison's two floors up."

The lights flicker, and go out.

"Fantastic," Mom says with a sigh as the emergency lighting flicks on, the generator in the basement filling the stairwell with a hum. "Let's go."

Scott leads the way, keeping Mom behind him. The emergency lighting is plenty for him to see by, but he remembers being human well enough that he's sure Mom's having a hard time. "Two floors," he tells her, wrapping his hand around her wrist, and letting her do the same to his wrist. "No big deal. We'll be there in a few seconds."

"Honey," she says, patting Scott's shoulder with her free hand. "Your brother's the one afraid of the dark. Not me."

"With what's happening right now," Scott says, leading them around the turn on the first landing, "and what's _been_ happening for the past few months, I think _I'm_ starting to get afraid of the dark."

"Sensible plan," Mom says, chuckling.

They reach the first floor up without incident. Scott hears a few pairs of feet shuffling around on that floor, but none of them are close enough to the stairwell that he feels concerned. They reach the next floor up as well, and everything sounds silent. Scott opens the doorway. 

There's a few heartbeats on the floor, but Scott knows that the people with heartbeats aren't the ones he needs to be worried about. It's the ones whose hearts have as-good-as-stopped who want to hurt his loved ones.

Allison's hallway is just around one corner from the stairwell, so Scott and his mom move there quickly. As soon as he turns the corner, Scott's breath catches in his throat. Allison's doorway is cleared. There isn't _anything_ barricading the zombies from getting to her.

"Mom!" he cries, urging her forward. "Someone…"

"What?" she asks, tripping a little as she tries to keep up. Scott slows down for her, but it's not enough. He lets go of Mom's hand and sprints ahead, bursting through Allison's doorway. 

There's a gun in Scott's face, the barrel pointed right between his eyes. "Whoa!" Scott cries, throwing up his hands.

"Scott," Chris Argent sighs, lowering his weapon. "You made the barrier?"

Nodding, Scott steals a glance over at Allison. She looks exactly the same as when he left her. She's still alive.

"We're going to get her out of here," Mom says, brushing past Scott and going straight for the IV stand holding Allison's medication. The bag on the pole is almost empty. Mom pulls out a new bag from one of the cabinets. She tells them, "This is just saline and glucose, no medication. It'll keep her hydrated and her blood sugar up, but there won't be any sedation." Melissa pauses. "I can't keep her pain meds going either," she says with a sigh, looking down at Allison's face. "Without a regulator and a vitals monitor, I can't really be sure she's getting a dose that won't damage her internal organs."

"Bring a couple syringes of morphine, and we'll make do," Chris says, joining Mom at Allison's bed. "She's tough. She can do it."

Scott opens his mouth to remind the adults that he's capable of draining pain from Allison, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Scott takes it out, and sees that the number isn't one that he recognizes. He accepts the call and turns toward the door so he doesn't disturb the others. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end is masked with static and patchy as it says, "Scott? Scott, where are you?"

"Dad?" Scott asks, moving toward the window to get better reception. "Dad? Are you there?"

Mom gives Scott a worried look, following him with her eyes.

"I'm here," Dad says, the connection getting stronger. "Well, Parrish and I are kind of trapped. Where are you?"

"Trapped?" Scott asks, sharing a worried look with his mother. "I'm at the hospital."

"Sporting goods store," Dad replies. "The one down on Fourth? We locked ourselves in before the power cut and now…"

"I can be there in ten minutes," Scott tells him. "Are any in there with you?"

"No," Dad says, though Scott can tell from his tone of voice that it's not the whole story. "Just about a dozen really scared people. We really could use a little help."

"I'll–" Scott starts to say, but Mom cuts him off, taking the phone out of his hands.

"John Stilinski, you bastard. Don't tell me you're dying!"

Scott listens to his Dad's response, even though the connection starts to fade. Still, he manages to catch Dad saying, "No! I'm –– healthy. No bites. –– little silly, trapped here."

Mom lets out a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and holding one hand to her chest. "John. I love you."

"Love you," Dad says, chuckling a little, like he always does when things get a little mushy. "Scott, too."

"Love you, Dad!" Scott calls out loud enough that Dad should be able to hear it. The phone beeps and the screen lights up. The call has dropped.

Mom hands Scott back his phone, taking both of his hands and catching his eyes with hers. "You go fast," she says, staring at Scott until he nods. "You go fast, you don't take any risks you don't have to, and you make sure you and your father both get home safe."

"I promise," Scott says, leaning forward to kiss his mother's forehead. He looks over her shoulder at Chris Argent. "I'll be back to help you get Allison out of here."

"We can handle it," Chris says, nodding at Mom, who meets his eyes for a moment and nods back. "We'll do what we need to do, Scott. You have bigger things to deal with."

Scott wants to argue that nothing's bigger than making sure both Mom and Allison make it out of here alive. After just a moment of hesitation, he decides that trusting Chris to keep them alive is worth it, if it gives him the time to save Dad. Scott has a feeling that what dad wasn't saying was that he's trapped with one or more people who've been bitten. Scott has to go help Dad. He _has_ to. There's no other choice to make.

Scott gives Allison one last look and leaves the room, running as fast as he can. 

~*~

**Day 3, 1 am**

The electricity goes out while Kira’s on watch. The Sheriff and his Deputy left a few hours ago, Stiles and Derek are asleep, as are Lydia and Isaac. Malia’s awake with Kira, and when the lights go out, Kira can’t help but grab at Malia to anchor herself. “Crap,” Kira says.

“Does this happen a lot?” Malia asks, looking around. “I remember the lights going out when I was a kid.” Malia follows when Kira gets up to go find Stiles so she can ask where he put the flashlights. “I just don’t remember how often it happened.”

“Not often,” Kira says, stumbling over a backpack someone left on the floor. Kira curses, then sees an end table with a lamp on it. She winces at how hot the bulb is while she unscrews it, using her sleeve to keep her hand from burning.

Malia stands next to Kira for a moment before asking, “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” Kira says, grinning back at Malia, who she can just barely see as her eyes adjust to the darkness. Kira gets the light bulb all the way out of the lamp, and then turns it, grabbing the socket end with her bare hand. She concentrates, visualizing pushing her power into the light bulb. It glows. Smiling at Malia, Kira says, “There! Instant flashlight!”

Shielding her eyes from the sudden burst of light, Malia chuckles. “So, the electricity isn’t coming back?”

Kira shakes her head. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t count on it.”

“What about the water?” Malia asks, brushing past Kira and heading for the kitchen. Kira follows and watches as Malia opens the kitchen tap. Water rushes from the faucet, making Kira sigh with relief. Malia turns off the water again and says, “In the woods, clean water was the hardest thing to find.”

“You’re saying we should stock up.” Kira thinks about the bottles of water they got at the store and realizes that it’s not going to last anyone very long. “What do we have that could hold gallons and gallons of water?”

Malia shrugs. “Bathtub?”

Wrinkling up her nose, Kira says, “I wouldn’t drink water out of _my own_ bathtub, much less someone else’s.”

“We clean them first,” Malia says, leaning over the sink to look out the window. “Sun’s coming up soon. We could wake the others to come help.”

“Leave Stiles and Derek,” Kira says. “They both look like they need the rest.”

Malia nods, her face going alarmingly serious. She chews on one of her fingernails, gnawing at it, rather than biting it delicately like Kira has seen other people do. With a finger still in her mouth, Malia says, “Derek got hurt pretty bad. He healed before you guys came and got us, but he had these like, _massive_ ,” she takes her hand out of her mouth and holds it at least a foot away from her other hand, “bite wounds. Big chunks taken out of his arm and his side.”

“Really?” Kira asks, fighting the urge to gag at the mental image.

Malia nods. “Yeah. I’m not surprised he needs to rest.”

Together, they decide to give Lydia and Isaac twenty more minutes of sleep before waking them up. Sensitive to the fact that Lydia’s mom just passed away (and praying that her parents haven’t ended up the same way), Kira sends Malia to Scott’s room to wake Isaac. She slips into the guest bedroom she and shared with Lydia, and finds Lydia already awake, staring blankly at her hands.

“Are you okay?” Kira asks, sitting down on the bed next to Lydia. Lydia’s hair sits in a disheveled pile on top of her head, loosely held by an elastic tie. Just like Kira, Lydia slept in her clothes from the night before. Somehow, the wrinkles look worse on Lydia’s outfit than on Kira’s. Unless Kira just can’t see how bad hers are.

Shaking her head, Lydia replies, “No. The man next door is going to die soon. The neighborhood is full of them.”

Kira nods, carefully putting one of her hands over Lydia’s. “Do you want to help keep our people alive?”

Head jerking up, like she’s surprised, Lydia’s wide eyes meet Kira’s. “What did you have in mind?”

Kira swallows nervously, thrown off by the intensity of Lydia’s reaction. She’s pretty sure Lydia has read her intent wrong. “Just, uh. Just hoarding water. We need to clean out the tubs.”

“Oh.” Lydia rolls her eyes and pushes her hands down her thighs. “That, I can do.”

Kira would have thought Lydia would object to manual labor, since it seems to clash with her well-off image. Still, she’s grateful for the help. When Kira gets down to the first floor, Malia has both a bottle of bleach and a bottle of cleaner poised over a bucket. “Stop!” Kira cries out, holding out her hands.

Malia pauses and looks up at Kira. “What?”

“You can’t mix those!” Kira hurries over and takes the bleach out of Malia’s hand, twisting the childproof-but-not-Malia-proof cap back on. “You’ll kill us!”

Malia sets down the bottle of cleaner and backs away from it like it’s a bomb about to explode. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly.

Kira remembers that Malia hasn’t had much of a real-world education for the past eight years. “It’s not your fault,” Kira says with a sigh, putting the cap back on the cleaner as well. “Lydia, Isaac, and I can handle this. Why don’t you keep watch?” Lydia comes into the room then, the hair at the edges of her face a little damp, like she’s washed her face.

Frowning, Malia huffs and then says, “Fine. I can do that.” She stomps out of the room.

Lydia gives Kira a look, but Kira isn’t quite sure how to explain the situation. Isaac comes into the room, his phone in his hand. “They’re bringing Allison here,” he says, eyes wide. 

“Good,” Lydia replies, taking the phone from Isaac’s hand and looking at it. “I have a feeling the hospital is only going to get worse.”

“A feeling?” Kira asks as Lydia hands the phone back to Isaac. “Or a _feeling_?”

“Both,” Lydia says, frowning and rolling her eyes. “Alright, kids. Let’s clean some tubs.”

When the sun comes up, all three tubs in the Stilinski house are clean and full of water. The taps still work, so Kira takes a quick candlelit sink-bath before dressing again in the same clothes. Rescuing Malia and Derek from Deaton’s meant going by Kira’s house to get more clothes never really happened. She calls her parents again, first her dad’s phone, then her mom’s. Nothing. Even though he still lives in New York and Kira hasn’t spoken to him since he stormed out on them six months ago, Kira tries her papa’s phone. The ringing on the other end sounds reedy, but after three rings, he picks up. “Kira?”

“Papa?” she asks, suddenly choking on her tears. 

“Kira, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice fading out and then back in. “What is it?”

“I can’t–“ Kira swallows and coughs, trying to get her voice back. “I can’t find Mom or Dad. They’re not answering their phones.”

“Oh, god.” On the other end of the phone, something rustles, like Papa’s moving. Kira imagines him leaving his desk and heading for somewhere quieter to speak. “Is it there? This sickness that’s been on the news?”

Kira nods before saying out loud, “Yeah. It’s here.”

“Are you safe?” he asks, the worry in his voice evident over the loud crackle that mars the connection. “Are you _alone_?”

“I’m with friends,” Kira assures him, sighing. “We haven’t been to the house, yet. It’s safer–“

“Kira?” Papa asks, his voice masked with static. “Kira?”

Kira’s heart drops. “Papa?” Static takes over the call, which finally drops and makes her phone beep in her ear. “Papa!”

The tears in her eyes are nothing compared to the battery bar on Kira’s phone. It’s down to 35 percent, which feels like nothing now that the power’s out. Kira rests her forehead on her knees and lets herself bawl.

Lydia finds her like that a while later, putting her arm around Kira’s shoulders and resting her temple against Kira’s. Kira feels like she barely knows Lydia, and yet Kira welcomes the comfort. With her Papa and all her old friends on the other side of the country, and her Mom and Dad missing, and Scott still gone, almost a full day after he left with his mima, Kira figures having a new friend at her side is better than nothing. 

“Thanks,” Kira says, when she’s coherent enough to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“Don’t mention it,” Lydia says, pushing herself up to her feet and offering Kira a hand up. “Now, come eat some breakfast. Scott called.”

“He did?” Kira’s heart flutters in her chest at the news that Scott is still alive. “What did he say? Is he coming back?”

Lydia shrugs and shakes her head. “He needed help. Derek took Malia and Isaac.”

“Why didn’t they take me?” Kira asks, following Lydia downstairs and toward the kitchen. “I want to help.”

“Because,” Stiles says, his hair sticking up in a dozen different directions, patchy stubble covering his chin, and what looks like half a giant bagel currently being chewed in his mouth, “we don’t know if you’re immune.”

“Plus,” Lydia says, giving Stiles a disgusted look, “we needed someone who could protect the house.”

“I mean, I’ve got a bat…” Stiles opens his arms and shrugs.

The immense eye roll that Lydia gives Stiles makes Kira chuckle. “Yeah, okay,” she says, her stomach rumbling at the sight of the breakfast foods laid out on the kitchen island. “Just wait around for everyone to come back. Sounds like fun.”

Stiles sighs. “I don’t like it either.” Shrugging, he pushes a box of cereal closer to Kira. “I don’t particularly like being cannibalized either, so.”

“Pull it together, guys.” Lydia spreads cream cheese on her bagel. “We’ve got about four hours before all the food in the refrigerator goes off. Maybe six for the frozen stuff.”

Kira changes her mind about the cereal and asks, “Do we have a way to cook the bacon?”

“Stove’s gas,” Stiles says, pointing at the appliance in question. “It might still work.”

It does. Kira cooks as much bacon as there is, figuring it will probably last longer that way. She gorges herself on as much as she dares, sharing greasy smiles with Stiles. There’s nothing much else to do but wait until Scott and the others get back.

~*~

**Day 3, 2 am**

As they drive through town toward Scott’s house, Allison can barely believe this is the same town she’s spent a year of her life in. There’s cars abandoned here and there, which means Dad drives up onto the curb more than a little. The jostling of the car sends pain throughout Allison’s body. At one point, she can’t help but cry out. 

“Oh, god,” Mrs. Stilinski says, turning to look back at Allison. “Try to hold still as much as possible.”

“I’m trying,” Allison assures her, pressing against the wound in her stomach to help ease the pain. “How long is this going to take to heal?”

“If it doesn’t get infected?” Mrs. Stilinski asks with a sigh. “It’s already been healing for almost two weeks. You were lucky. The sword was sharp, missed all your major blood vessels and didn’t completely sever any of your intestines. We got you stitched up and your abdominal cavity cleaned out pretty quickly. You’ve been on antibiotics and intravenous nutrition for two weeks. No fever since …” The list of medical procedures makes Allison dizzy and she loses some of what Mrs. Stilinski says. “…short, I don’t know. Maybe another two weeks, maybe six more months. Solid food is going to be a challenge.”

Allison pouts. She doesn’t want to rely on others when the world is falling apart around them. She sees at least a dozen zombies wandering around the streets. Allison stretches out her arms, wincing when that little motion causes that deep pain that keeps growing the longer Allison is awake.

Dad goes over another curb and Allison cries out again. “Dad!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, but he keeps his eyes on the road, driving around one of the zombies as best he can. 

“When we get home,” Mrs. Stilinski says, looking back at Allison again, “I can give you a little morphine. That might help.”

Allison doesn’t like the idea of morphine. She knows she looks a lot more like her Pop than her Dad, and that Pop had a drinking problem before he was killed. It’s given Allison the impression that she should stay away from anything remotely addictive. Maybe Allison can get along without it. She’s strong. 

They go over another bump and Allison feels like the pain is turning her inside out. She changes her mind on the merits of pain medication. “Yeah, okay.”

Dad pulls up to the Stilinski house, parking on the street, rather than in the parking lot. While Allison’s still struggling to get out of the car, Dad ends up at her door, scooping her up into his arms. Allison thinks that she should protest, but she just doesn’t have the energy to do it. Her stomach hurts so bad that it’s difficult to have any other thoughts.

“Come on in,” Mrs. Stilinski says, her arms filled with medical supplies. The house looks the same as it ever has, and Mrs. Stilinski manages to get the door open even with her hands full. She calls into the house, “Anyone home?”

A shape moving so fast it blurs through Allison’s vision runs into Mrs. Stilinski and for a moment, Allison thinks she’s watched Scott’s mom get killed. Then Allison realizes it’s Stiles, wrapping his mima in a tight hug. “You’re back,” Stiles breathes, his face buried against Mrs. Stilinski’s shoulder.

Mrs. Stilinski chuckles and leans her head against Stiles. “Hey, kiddo.” Her arms are too full to really hug him back and Allison wonders how she can stand it. Allison kind of wants to hug the snot out of Stiles, and she’s not even family.

Lydia and Kira appear in the hallway behind Stiles and Allison wants to hug them, too. She gives everyone a weak wave, “Hi, guys.”

Kira smiles brightly, but Lydia’s eyes tear up and she rushes forward, pulling Allison in a gentle hug, even though Dad is still holding her. “I thought we’d lost you,” Lydia says, squeezing a little tighter, then letting go.

“Here,” Dad says, moving out of the foyer and into the living room. He sets Allison on the biggest couch, letting out a breath. Allison looks up at him and for the first time, thinks her dad looks older than he should. “Okay?”

“Yep,” Allison says, though she can’t help but wince as she repositions herself. “Pain medicine?”

Mrs. Stilinski comes into the room. “I’ve got it right here, sweetie,” she says, dropping most of her armload onto the overstuffed chair and picking a couple of pieces out of the mess. “Now, someone’s got to stay right with you and make sure you keep breathing alright if I give you this.”

“I–“ Dad starts to say, but Lydia cuts him off.

“I can stay,” she says, sitting down next to Allison on the couch and giving Allison an encouraging nod. “I’ll stay.”

“Thanks, Lydia,” Dad says, rubbing his face with his hand and sitting down on an ottoman. He looks up at Stiles and Kira. “We know the house is secure?”

“They can’t get through the mountain ash,” Kira replies, her eyes flicking toward where Mrs. Stilinski is preparing a syringe. “We, uh. We found that out yesterday.”

“Airtight,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose and scratching the side of his neck. “Just, uh– Just don’t look out the back door if you want to keep your lunch.”

“What happened at the back door?” Mrs. Stilinski draws medicine from a vial into the syringe, pushing the plunger back up to measure the right amount into it. “Did you wreck my patio?”

“Zombies did,” Stiles insists, turning his back as Mrs. Stilinski approaches Allison with the syringe. “And Kira.”

“It was an accident!” Kira cries, turning a betrayed look on Stiles, which makes Allison smile.

Mrs. Stilinski gets Allison’s attention with a look and holds her hand over Allison’s leg. “I need to put the injection in your thigh muscle. Okay?”

Allison winces at the thought of a needle going into her muscle. Still, it can’t be any worse than the pain in her belly. She nods and watches as Mrs. Stilinski reaches for the waistband of her scrubs. “Keep your backs turned, boys,” Mrs. Stilinski says, and Dad turns away. Curiously, Kira turns away as well, and Allison wonders if Kira’s being polite because she finds Allison attractive, or if she hates needles as much as Stiles does.

Mrs. Stilinski pulls down the scrubs a few inches, with Allison’s help, and then looks around. She grabs a packet from the chair and hands it to Lydia. “Open that?” Lydia opens the packet and hands an alcohol wipe to Mrs. Stilinski. After that it’s a quick procedure to disinfect the skin and then poke Allison’s leg with the needle. Allison must like torturing herself, because she watches the needle pierce her skin. Her first thought is that it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as getting impaled did.

“How long does it take?” Allison asks as Mrs. Stilinski and Lydia both help Allison pull her pants back up to her waist. Each little movement makes Allison want to cry. She starts to feel dizzy, so she asks, “Can I lay down?”

Lydia directs Allison’s head into her lap, and Mrs. Stilinski helps Allison get settled. Allison smiles up at Lydia, and sees that the edges of her vision are starting to blur. Lydia returns Allison’s smile, but her eyes look so sad. Allison doesn’t know what to say about that, and she passes out before she thinks of something good.

~*~

**Day 3, 2 am**

Isaac runs right behind Derek, Malia at his back. "Tell me again why we couldn't borrow Lydia's car? Or Stiles'?"

"In case they needed them," Derek says, pausing with his back against the 7-11 on second and peeking around the corner. "We're not vulnerable like they are."

Isaac listens to the sounds around them, and finds the silence unnerving. In the absence of all those sounds of life that he'd taken for granted, Isaac feels more vulnerable than not. "It's not like we're immortal," he says, following when Derek waves them around the corner. They're about six blocks from the sporting goods store. 

"We're immune," Malia says, practically breathing down Isaac's neck. "Isn't that close enough?"

Isaac shrugs. Looking around at the crowd of zombies, he asks, "So, here's the place. Where's Scott?"

"On the far side of that big group of them," Derek says, pointing to the throng of zombies at the door to the sporting goods store. The crowd of them moves in waves, breaking against the building, trying to get in.

Malia whistles lowly. "No wonder Scott called us for help."

"Can we kill that many of them?" Isaac asks, looking from the group of them to Derek's face. 

Frowning grimly, Derek says, "I don't know. We can't take on too many of them at a time, but if we can get them spread out somehow."

"I know how." Malia grins brightly before sprinting toward the crowd, yelling. For a terrifying moment, Isaac thinks Malia's going to throw herself into the crowd. Instead, she veers off, pulling roughly half the crowd with her. They run after her and Malia _laughs_.

"She's _crazy_ ," Isaac says to Derek, who frowns at him. 

"Malia just got out of Eichen House," Derek points out, before moving toward the group of zombies that's left. Isaac follows, a sudden pit of guilt in his stomach. "As long as she doesn't get trapped," Derek adds, "she should be fine."

"And how 'bout us?" Isaac asks, letting his claws out as they approach the group of zombies. 

Fighting through them isn't anything like Isaac has ever done before. Taking down each zombie isn't difficult in and of itself, but there's so many of them that Isaac almost gets buried underneath them right away. He jumps out of the grouping (using some former-lady in a floral-print dress as a springboard), and takes Malia's example.

Isaac runs away from where Derek's fighting, watching as five of them follow after him. Isaac circles around, trying to keep close to Derek, because Isaac doesn't know quite what he'll do if he runs straight into another group of zombies.

When he feels like he has some distance, Isaac turns and strikes at the fastest zombie, leaping on it and driving it into the ground. Thin human nails scratch at Isaac's skin, but he manages to crush the zombie's head against the pavement and get back up before the next zombie's on him. 

Isaac uses the same run-then-crush tactic on the rest of the zombies. They don't appear smart enough to learn from their fellows' deaths at his hands. By the time Isaac makes it back to where Scott and Malia are bringing a group toward Derek, Isaac feels powerful. He feels like he could do anything. 

Crowing, Isaac jumps at a zombie, clamping his fangs around the back of its neck and shaking his head until the zombie goes limp and falls at his feet. Between the four of them, all of the zombies go down. "Did you see that?" Isaac asks Scott, wiping the gooey black zombie blood from his chin. "That was awesome!"

Scott gives Isaac a tired shake of his head, and suddenly Isaac feels like a jerk again. While Scott and Derek get the door to the store open, Malia punches Isaac's arm. " _I_ thought it was cool," she says with a conspiratorial smile. 

When the door opens, lots of people come out before the sheriff does, including Deputy Parrish, who's got blood spattered on one side of his face. Isaac's chest tightens in sympathy for Scott, who looks terrified out of his mind that his dad isn't among the survivors. 

Finally, the sheriff staggers out of the store, moving stiffly, but otherwise looking okay. Scott wraps him in a tight hug, which forces an, "Oof," from the sheriff. The sheriff smiles and wraps his son in a tight hug. Isaac tries to tell himself he's not jealous. It's not like you can miss something you never had, right?

"Are you coming home with us?" Isaac hears Scott ask. 

The sheriff makes a pained noise in response. "We're setting up a county shelter at the elementary school next to the sheriff station."

"Does the school have a mountain ash circle?" Derek asks, his mouth set in a thin line. "Because without one, you can't really be safe."

"Mountain Ash?" The sheriff asks with a little scoff at the end. "That stuff you and Dr. Deaton put in all my walls?"

Derek jerks his head in a nod. "Stiles set the circle as soon as we left."

Sighing, the sheriff pushed one hand back through his hair. "I can't house this many people, Derek." He gestures at the group of survivors. "So unless you've got some extra Mountain Ash _lying around_ , the school is already set up for a disaster."

Isaac didn't know that. He'd gone to Beacon Hills Elementary from kindergarten all the way until middle school. He'd never heard about any disaster plan. He wonders if maybe, given the past year's events, someone in this town had decided to be prepared. 

"Do what you need to do, Dad," Scott says, giving him another hug. "We'll see if we can get some mountain ash."

Derek grumbles, but he doesn't say anything else, instead deferring to Scott. Isaac wonders if that means Scott really is the alpha now. God knows, Isaac trusts Scott a lot more than he ever trusted Derek.

Isaac and his people make sure the sheriff and his refugees get to the elementary school, and that the school is clear and secure, before they head back for Scott's house. Isaac kind of feels like he should stay, and help protect Scott's dad, but really, he knows Allison should be back at the house now. He's eager to see her awake.

Derek ends up staying behind, saying, "I can help here." The sheriff nods and pats Derek's arm to accept the offer. 

Deputy Parrish sighs and says, "Thanks, man. Hey, do you need a weapon?"

Chuckling, Derek shakes his head.

Isaac, Malia, and Scott return to the Stilinski house, none of them energetic enough to do much more than jog slowly in the right direction.

There's one zombie wandering around on the Stilinskis' block, which Malia takes care of before Stiles breaks the mountain ash barrier and then seals it again after they've all crossed the threshold.

Allison's there. She's lying on the couch with her head in Lydia's lap. Not for the first time, Isaac wonders if Lydia has feelings for Allison that aren't quite platonic. 

Still, Allison is _here_. She's here and she's unconscious. Isaac asks Lydia, "Is she okay?"

"Yeah," Lydia replies. "Sleeping off pain medication, but she's alive."

Isaac sits on the floor next to them, tapping his fingers against his knee until exhaustion catches up with him. He wakes up sprawled on the floor with what feels like a pillow under his head and a blanket draped over his body.

The room is pitch black, and Isaac's first instinct is to throw his arms wide, just to make sure he's not shut in the freezer. His right hand hits something soft, and his left hand finds only open air. That's right. He's at the Stilinskis, which would make sense, because Isaac's dad never let him take a pillow into the basement. Plus, Isaac's not alone; there's several other heartbeats nearby. One of them picks up, just before Allison's voice whispers, "Hey?"

"Allison," Isaac says on a breath, getting up onto his knees. "You're here!"

"Still here," she says with a little chuckle. Isaac wonders if he's allowed to touch her, because he really wants to touch her to make sure she's not just a voice in his head. 

Allison sucks in a sharp breath and Isaac notices how much her scent smells like pain. Without thinking, Isaac reaches for her, putting his hand onto her belly. He draws away the pain before he realizes that's what he's doing. 

"Oh, that feels better," Allison sighs, covering Isaac's hand with one of hers. "It's strange that you can do that."

"Why?" Isaac asks, turning his hand over so he can press his palm to Allison's and listen to the uptick in her heartbeat. "Because it's not something a monster would do?"

Allison's body rustles against the couch and the blankets around her, but she doesn't answer. 

"Never mind," Isaac tells her, drawing his hands away.

"I–" she starts to say before swallowing his words. "Is my dad still here?"

Isaac takes a deep breath, trying to pinpoint the spice-and-gunpowder smell he associates with Chris Argent. It seems more faded than if he was still in the room with them. Isaac uses his wolf eyes to see a little better in the pitch black. Lydia's still propped up at Allison's head, but there's no one else in the room. "I'll go look for him."

Isaac follows the sounds of heartbeats, finding Derek in the front foyer, eyes out the window. "She's awake," Isaac tells Derek, making sure to keep his voice as low as possible. "She wants to know where her dad is."

"He left," Derek says, sneering. "Stepped right over the mountain ash line and..." Derek sighs, pulling his arms tighter across his chest.

"Where did he go?" Isaac asks, sure Derek meant that Chris Argent left alone on purpose.

"Across town, to get supplies from his apartment." Derek shifts his weight to the other foot. "Wolfsbane ammo."

"Wolfsbane?" Isaac hears his own heartbeat speed up at the thought of wolfsbane bullets. "Why would he need that?"

Shrugging one shoulder, his eyes following a zombie as it skirts the mountain ash protecting the house. "Zombies can't cross mountain ash, maybe they're vulnerable to wolfsbane."

"They're bitten like werewolves." Isaac says, watching the zombie turn away and meander toward another house. Isaac wonders if the current situation is why only alphas can pass on the werewolf Bite. If werewolves could all do it, there would be way too many werewolves before long. "Maybe Mr. Argent is right."

"He still shouldn't have left on his own." Derek shifts his weight again, like he's nervous.

Nodding once, Isaac takes that as his cue to leave. He goes back to Allison and finds her asleep. What if Derek is right and Chris Argent is heading into more danger than he realizes? Doesn't he know that Allison needs him? Isaac know what it feels like to lose all your parents. Even if Isaac's dad was fucking terrible, it still wasn't a good feeling to be alone in the world. Isaac doesn't want that for Allison.

Isaac thinks he's willing to do anything to make sure Chris Argent survives his trip across town. 

First things first, Isaac needs someone human to break the mountain ash barrier. The only humans in the house are Stiles and his Mima, and Allison. Allison's too weak to move, Mrs. Stilinski would just try to talk Isaac out of going. That leaves Stiles.

Isaac waits until Derek has moved from looking out the front door to checking the back of the house before Isaac finds Stiles' room and enters it quietly. Stiles is sleeping alone, in the middle of the bed. As Isaac gets closer, trying not to wake up any of the werewolves in the house, Stiles' body jerks.

Isaac freezes, but that doesn't seem to help. Stiles whimpers and moves again, rolling so far he practically ends up with his head off the mattress. Isaac crouches down next to him and says quietly, "Stiles."

Stiles whimpers again and murmurs, "No. Please, no!"

Isaac doesn't know what to do. Is Stiles having a nightmare? Is it dangerous to wake up someone who's having a nightmare? God knows no one has ever women Isaac from any of his nightmares. Except...

Except for that creepy motel, when Stiles snapped Isaac out of whatever hallucination he'd been having. And really, what's the worst that could happen? Stiles is incapable of permanently damaging Isaac with his bare hands.

Isaac reaches out and shakes Stiles awake, gently saying his name. "Stiles. Stiles? Stiles!"

Stiles wakes up with an aborted moan, his heartbeat racing, and his limbs flying every which way. "What the–"

"It's Isaac. I need you to break the barrier for me."

"The mountain ash?" Stiles asks, switching on a flashlight and damn-near blinding Isaac. "Why?"

"Mr. Argent left." Isaac blinks a few times as his eyes adjust to the light.

Stiles looks at Isaac for a long moment, his mouth hanging open as he processes what Isaac's told him. "Okay?"

"He left _by himself_." Isaac seriously questions Stiles' metal capabilities. Why isn't Stiles getting why this is important? "In the middle of the night."

"He's a capable guy," Stiles says, but his face has turned grim as he gets out of bed, rubbing at his hair. "Does Allison know?" Maybe he does get it. 

Isaac shakes his head. "She wanted to see him. I want to bring him back before she wakes up and notices he's gone."

"Wait, _you_ want to go by yourself?" Stiles pads out of his room and down the hallway, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm immune," Isaac points out, following close behind Stiles. Derek can probably hear them, if he's listening. Isaac hopes he's not. "I can get to him and get him back here alive."

Stiles pauses at the top of the stairs and gives Isaac a side-long look. His eyes shine in the dim light from the flashlight, but eventually he just shrugs. "Yeah, okay. C'mon, let's do this. I gotta pee."

So far the water is still running, which Isaac is grateful for. He's not looking forward to the point where they have to dig a latrine.

At the bottom of the stairs, Stiles keeps going straight toward the front door. He pauses there, listening, and asks Isaac, "Anyone out there?"

Isaac listens for heartbeats first, and when he doesn't hear any, he listens for the tell-tale shuffling of ragged footsteps. He hears neither, so Isaac shakes his head. "All clear."

There's a covered bucket of mountain ash next to the door. Stiles picks it up and opens the door. He bends down and draws a finger through the line of ash on the floor, breaking the seal. Before he can change his mind, Isaac jumps across the threshold. 

Stiles pouts thoughtfully and pushes the mountain ash back into a line. The barrier forms again, practically pulsing at Isaac until he takes another step away from it. Isaac hears Derek stirring at the back of the house, and he really doesn't want to be stopped. This is something he _needs_ to do, both for Allison, and for Mr. Argent, who's meant a lot to Isaac these past few weeks.

Isaac takes off running, and gets far enough that if Derek calls after him, Isaac doesn't hear it.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 3, 5 am**

Chris is surprised by how many zombies there are between the Stilinski house and his apartment downtown. It seems like a large portion of the Beacon Hills population has succombed to the infection. While driving, Chris notices that the zombies appear to be attracted to the noise his car makes. He decides to abandon the car about a mile from his building, hoping it means he can get past the zombies more quietly.

He doesn't mean to use his gun. After all, if noise attracts the zombies, he wants to make as little noise as possible. The problem happens when Chris gets boxed in. He turns a corner and finds himself facing three zombies. When he tries to turn back, Chris sees that two others are blocking his path. 

Chris _could_ use his knife to take them down, but he doubts he could do it without getting bitten. It's the worst of both options, but Chris draws his gun. 

When Chris starts shooting, he manages to get the first two down, both with head shots. He runs toward their corpses before the others can close the hole. Once he's free of the circle, he turns, shooting at the other three. One goes down right away, and Chris is sure he hits the other one, but not in the head. Chris laments the fact that he doesn't have any wolfsbane bullets on him, because he's _sure_ they would help.

If he survives this, Chris is adding a giant section to the Argent bestiary, all about these zombies. 

There's one zombie left when Chris has to reload. He sprints as fast as his old bones can take and ducks around the corner of a drug store. As he reloads, the sounds of the empty magazine being dropped and the new magazine clicking into place must cover up the shuffling, because a zombie comes out of nowhere, grabbing Chris by the arm. Chris shoves his arm at the zombie, knocking its teeth with his elbow. elbow. The zombie grabs his arm anyway and tries to bite him through the sleeve of his leather jacket. The pressure of the bite makes Chris' arm ache, but the zombie's teeth can't bite through the leather. Chris would've been surprised if they could, as he specifically wears this jacket to avoid being scratched or bitten by werewolves, who have much sharper teeth.

The zombie who'd been following Chris turns the corner, lumbering toward Chris. Using his free arm, and his newly-loaded gun, Chris shoots it and turns the barrel of the gun against the zombie chewing on his arm. The blowback of the gunpowder burns the side of Chris' face, but at least the zombie is dead now, a bullet in its brain.

Chris staggers away from the corpses, his hearing shot from having to fire his gun so close to his ears. He'll have to rely on his vision, even though it's the middle of the night and all the street lamps are out. There's the light from the moon, and from the stars, and from the flashlight in Chris' pocket. He won't use that until he gets inside the building, for fear of attracting attention.

Of course, having to fire his weapon has made that point more than a little moot.

Chris is lucky in that he doesn't run across any zombies before he gets his hearing back. There's still a faint ringing in his left ear, but Chris figures it's one of those things he'll just have to get used to for awhile. 

Three blocks from his apartment, Chris stops short. There's a large herd of them wandering down the road. Chris wonders what it is that keeps them together like this. Do they feel a sense of camaraderie? Is it like werewolves and their need for a pack? It seems like a primal urge that Chris would have never guessed humans had. 

Though, with the loss of first Brian, then Victoria, and almost losing Allison, Chris thinks maybe he can understand these zombies. They just don't want to feel alone, if a walking brain-dead body is capable of feeling alone.

Chris can't really go around the group of zombies, because there's a river on one side of them, and a fence surrounding the Art Museum on the other. He's going to have to either give up on the mission, or fight his way through them.

Looking through his pockets, Chris takes inventory and mentally calculates how many bullets he has. Counting the zombies is difficult when they're moving around without purpose in the crowd and he's only got the moon as a source of light. He thinks he's got just about as many bullets as there are zombies, between his primary weapon and the one strapped to his ankle. 

If Chris misses a shot, he's dead. He just won't miss, then. 

Taking a deep breath, Chris brings up his gun with both hands. He aims carefully at the closest zombie and squeezes the trigger.

The first shot hits, the zombie goes down, and all the others turn toward Chris. The second shot hits true, and so does the third.

Chris' fourth shot goes wide. He's dead.

Not one to give up in the face of horrible odds, Chris keeps shooting. He has to move, to get out of the reach of those grasping arms and gnawing teeth. Another shot misses, hitting the shoulder instead of the head. 

Chris trips, his back and shoulders taking the brunt of the fall. A zombie lands on him and Chris blows its brains out, which land all over Chris' face and mouth. He spits out what he can, though he knows it won't make a difference, one of the zombies is already pulling Chris by the leg. He kicks at the hand as he pushes the corpse off of his chest. The hand grabs harder, almost hard enough to crush Chris' ankle, and yanks him free.

The hand at Chris' ankle doesn't look grey and bloated like the skin on all the other zombies. Chris follows the arm up with his eyes and sees a familiar profile. 

Isaac pushes away the zombies descending on both of them with one giant shove and a snarl. "Get up!" Isaac cries, swinging his claws at the zombie that made it through. "Get into the building!"

Chris avoids the urge to stop and ask Isaac what he's doing here. Chris already knows, anyway. 

Scrambling to his feet, Chris readjusts his grip on his weapon and backs toward the apartment building. He lifts the gun and aims it as a dozen zombies swarm at Isaac. Five shots and four hits. There's still eight zombies, and Isaac looks overwhelmed. 

Chris takes the gun from his ankle holster and shoots again. Isaac crushes one skull. Six left.

One of the six notices Chris again and starts ambling toward him. Chris catches the zombie between the eyes. Isaac rips out the back of one zombie's neck, kicking at the one gnawing on his leg. Chris shoots that one as well.

Three left. 

Right after his second-to-last bullet goes wide, Chris manages to take out a zombie as it stands up after Isaac pushed it away. Isaac practically rips the head off another.

One left. Chris is out of bullets and Isaac looks so injured he can barely move.

There's a knife on Chris' belt. He doesn't want to use it, but it looks like he's not going to have a choice. Moving stiffly from all the injuries he's taken, Chris staggers over to Isaac. Isaac holds the last zombie away from himself with locked arms, flinching as the zombie snaps its teeth at him. Chris grabs the zombie by the hair and plunges his neck into the base of its skull. It goes limp immediately, falling to the side as Isaac lets it fall.

Stashing his knife back in its sheath, Chris holds his hand down toward Isaac. Isaac takes it, standing up and giving Chris a shaky grin. Isaac's wounds heal quicker than Chris can catalog them and Isaac asks, "You okay?" before Chris gets the chance to ask _him_.

"Yeah," Chris says, even though he's limping as he walks back toward where he dropped his secondary weapon, and then his main weapon. He stores them back in their holsters, itching for the stash of bullets he has five stories up in the apartment. Turning his attention to Isaac, Chris asks, "You?"

"I'll live," Isaac replies, rolling back his shoulders and stretching his neck to one side. He nods at the building. "Let's go."

Chris holds back a sigh as he leads the way into the building. The front door has a card reader, which is nonfunctional with the power out. Chris smashes the large window next to the doors. He thinks his doorman, Jun, won't mind, given the condition of the city. Maybe Jun's already dead. 

"The building smells clean," Isaac says. As Chris turns on his flashlight and leads the way toward the stairwell, Isaac takes a few more breaths. "No zombies here."

"Excuse me for not being more enthused," Chris says. He climbs the stairs carefully, looking ahead to make sure he doesn't put himself in a bad situation. They reach the fifth floor without incident. It's the longest amount of time Chris has gone without seeing a zombie since he left the Stilinski house.

Mr. Westhouse from 5C groans and reaches his arm through the door as Chris passes by, but it's chained shut and he doesn't seem bright enough after death to undo the chain. 

Wrinkling his nose, Isaac asks, "Do you think I should..." He nods at Mr. Westhouse's door. 

Chris thinks about the last time Princess peed on the hallway rug, and shakes his head. "Don't bother."

Chris' apartment is still secure, even if the security system doesn't work without power. The door is intact and locked, just how he left it thirty-six hours ago. A quick sweep of the rooms shows that all of the windows are still locked, everything is in its rightful place, and there aren't any zombies waiting to jump out at him. 

Chris opens the ammunition and gun vaults and throws Isaac one of his big duffle bags. "Pack everything." Chris eyes Allison's main crossbow, and back up. He nods at Isaac and points. "Especially those." 

They make quick work of packing and head back down the stairs. Chris leads the way, a pack on his back and his reloaded gun out front. Chris lets Isaac carry the majority of the load. Because really, what is a father's privilege than giving his daughter's boyfriend heavy labor?

They manage to pass one zombie without being noticed and end up most of the way back to the car when Isaac hisses, "Stop!"

Chris freezes while Isaac tilts his head. "What so you hear?"

"An engine," Isaac replies, his eyes going wide. "An engine and lots and lots of feet."

Chris isn't sure what that means, but it doesn't sound good. He checks his surroundings and hurries a few dozen yards closer to where his car is still parked several blocks down.

Then Chris hears the rumble of the engine Isaac was talking about. Two seconds later, tires squealing, it turns onto the street Chris and Isaac are on, six or seven blocks behind them.

The engine sounds like it's barely functional, coughing and wheezing. As the car gets closer, swerving back and forth, Chris sees that it's an old Crown Victoria. When Chris looks past the car, he feels the blood rush out of his face, and his fingertips tingle. Following the car are at least a hundred zombies, all thundering up the road.

The car splutters to a stop just past Chris and he hears the engine turn over but fail to start several times before a figure hops out. 

The man pushes his hands into his hair and kicks the car. Chris has turned his eyes on the army of zombies closing in on them when Isaac calls out, "Coach?"

"Lahey?" The man calls, kicking the car once more before grabbing a bag from the back seat. "You gotta get out of here!"

"I've got a car," Chris says, hurrying into the street to urge Finstock in the right direction. "C'mon, let's go."

The heavy sound of all those footsteps just a few dozen yards behind them makes Chris more nervous and scared than he's probably been in his entire life. He's faced down packs full of werewolves, and any number of other beasts. At least werewolves are capable of fear. From everything he's seen so far, these zombies aren't. You can't scare them off with a show of force, and Chris admits to himself that fear is at least half of his play book.

Finstock's only weapon appears to be a hockey stick, and Chris considers giving him a gun. Without knowing Finstock's shooting abilities, Chris decides arming him is a bad idea. At best, he'd probably waste ammo, at worst, he'd shoot Chris or Isaac instead of the zombies.

Since they're able to move faster than the zombies, Chris, Finstock, and Isaac outpace the horde of zombies. As they approach the car, Isaac shoves his bags in Chris' direction. "Here." Isaac takes broad steps away from the car and toward the alley between two apartment buildings, his claws already out.

"Yep, I've gone around the bend," Finstock says, turned in Isaac's direction.

Chris shakes his head and unlocks the car so he can pop the back hatch open. He loads all of his bags, and takes Finstock's as well. "Get in the car," he orders Finstock.

Finstock, eyes wide, grips his hockey stick tighter, and says, "We gotta get Lahey in the car."

Clenching his jaw, Chris reminds himself that he gave up having people who would follow his orders unquestioningly, and that he did it on purpose when he and Allison "retired." Before he can think of a way to convince the coach, Isaac throws a zombie into the street. It's still alive, so Chris raises his gun and shoots it in the head.

"Man, you don't mess around, do you Mr. Argent?" Finstock says with a whistle. 

Isaac staggers into the street, snarling as he throws another three zombies off of his limbs and back. Chris catches one, but only in the shoulder. He's very aware that he's shooting with wolfsbane now, and he doesn't want to hit Isaac. If Isaac were to get hit in the head or the heart, it would probably kill him instantly.

Surprisingly, the zombie he shot screams. Chris doesn't think he's heard any of them scream, even while getting torn limb from limb by an angry werewolf. Smoke curls up from the bullet wound and the zombie starts to crumble, its dark eyes rolling back in its head. 

Something grabs Chris and he almost shoots it before he realizes Finstock has taken him by the shoulders, asking, "What the hell was that?"

"Wolfsbane," Chris replies, watching as Isaac puts down the other two zombies. The group of hundreds has caught up to them, only a block away now. Chris pushes at Finstock and cries, "Everyone in the car!"

"You go," Isaac says, his eyes on another group of about a dozen closing in on them from the other side. "I'll draw them in the other direction."

"No way, mister." Finstock cries, shaking a finger at Isaac. "If you think I'm going to leave one of my students behind to–"

Isaac cuts Finstock off by punching him in the face, knocking him out cold. "Really," he says to Chris, picking up Finstock and shoving him into the back seat of the car when Chris opens the door for him. "I'll see you back at the house once I lose them."

"We can just drive through them," Chris points out, closing the door. "Get in the car, Isaac."

"You'll lead them right back to the house," Isaac insists, pushing Chris toward the driver's side door.

The horde is getting closer, their feet scraping against the pavement, their moans making Chris' skin crawl. Chris grabs Isaac's arm. "Get in the car!"

Isaac shakes him off and grins. Then he takes off. "Get yourself and the guns back to the house!"

Chris is pretty sure he hears "back to Allison" in Isaac's voice. The zombies are too close now. If Chris starts shooting, he's never going to get out. He gets in the car instead and starts the engine. The sound draws the attention of the zombies until Isaac starts shouting. As Isaac leads them away, down an empty street, Chris drives the other way. 

He has to run over a few zombies to get clear, but he does it. After a few blocks, Chris gets a bad feeling in his gut. He shouldn't have left Isaac like that. Finstock was right.

Chris turns right instead of left. He looks down the intersections as he passes, the early dawn light starting to illuminate the crowd of zombies. It looks like some sort of morbid parade. 

At one of the intersections, Chris sees Isaac still running. He knows from experience that werewolves can run for a long time. Isaac's out in the clear, drawing the zombie's away from the house, away from Allison. He's got time.

Chris drives as fast as he can back to the house. He'll drop most of the weapons, and Finstock, off at the house, and then he'll come back out and look for Isaac. 

It's the best plan he's got.

When Chris pulls an addled Finstock out of the back seat and helps him into the house, the first thing he hears is Lydia screaming.

~*~

**Day 3, 7 am**

Lydia wakes up with a sharp pain in her neck and a loud buzzing in her ears. The sun is starting to come up, grey light seeping in through the windows. It's just enough to see by, so Lydia takes a look around. Allison's asleep, but no longer on Lydia's lap, and Malia and Kira are curled up together in a mountain of blankets and pillows on the floor.

She thinks about trying to squeeze in with them and go back to sleep, but this buzzing in her ears is just getting worse. Anger flushes through Lydia's body. She's angry at the crick in her neck, angry at the flyaway strands of hair she can see in the edges of her vision, angry at Allison for getting stabbed. Most of all, Lydia is angry about her mother dying.

How dare Natalie Martin die before seeing her youngest daughter get married? It's not fair, and Lydia is angry.

She stomps her way to the kitchen, trying the stove to see if she can get some coffee going. The burner doesn't light. Lydia turns the knob again, listening carefully, but she can't tell if the gas is flowing, or if it's the same buzzing sound she can't get rid of. Huffing, Lydia turns the burner back off. She doesn't smell gas, so hopefully that means the gas just isn't flowing, not that the guy who puts the mercaptan in the gas has been killed.

For good measure, Lydia opens the kitchen door. She can feel the mountain ash barrier around the house, but it doesn't trap her in the house the way it does with the werewolves. She thinks she could probably break the circle, but she doesn't want to test the theory unless Stiles or Mrs. Stilinski are right there to put it back again.

Lydia doesn't hear footsteps, so when she turns and sees a dark shape standing in the doorway from the hallway, she's surprised enough to let out a small, shocked noise. The figure moves into the light cast by the kitchen windows and Lydia can see that it's Derek. "Still early," he says, blinking out the window.

Dark circles under his eyes make Derek look older than Lydia knows he is. Well, that and his rapidly-growing beard. She wonders how he normally keeps it so neatly trimmed. Probably an electric groomer like Lydia's father used to have for his moustache. Pushing her hand back through her own hair, Lydia leans against the counter next to Derek and asks, "Have you been on watch all night?"

"Everyone else was sleeping," he says with a shrug.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "No. I'm not going to have one of the werewolves keeping me alive run himself into the ground like this. You're getting something to eat, and then you're going to sleep."

Derek opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but Lydia glares at him until he closes it again. Smiling, she pats the side of Derek's face (which is surprisingly soft) and says, "You know you like having someone look out for you."

Rolling his eyes, but smirking, Derek takes a handful of protein bars. He's reaching for the turkey jerky when Lydia's vision goes white.

The buzzing noise feels like it's crushing Lydia, closing in on her and stealing her breath. There are so many of them, but one personal imprint rockets to the forefront of Lydia's mind. It's not a name or a face, but Lydia recognizes the impression.

When she can see again, Lydia is on the floor, her back against someone's chest, and Stiles and Scott both in her face. Her throat _aches_ , and her voice won't come.

"Who is it?," Stiles asks, meeting Lydia's gaze with this focused stare that Lydia envies sometimes. "Who's dead?"

Mr. Argent barrels into the room, pointing a finger at Lydia. "No! I only left him alone for a minute. Say I can go find him! Say he's not dead yet!"

Lydia shrinks away from his accusing tone, before the anger comes back to her. She glares up at Argent, and holds her hand out to Scott until he helps her up. It's Derek at Lydia's back and he looks almost as murderous as Lydia feels. "You _left_ him?"

"Him, who?" Malia asks from across the room.

"Isaac," Lydia replies, her eyes still on Argent. "Isaac is dead."

Instead of making excuses like Lydia expects, Argent crumples. His head falls into both of his hands and he crouches down. "I knew it," Lydia hears him say as he shakes his head slowly back and forth. "I knew I should have made that second turn. I should've made him get in the car!"

Mrs. Stilinski clears her throat, giving Kira a look until Kira moves aside and lets her through. "C'mon, Chris," Mrs. Stilinski says, crouching down next to him and putting her arm around his shoulders. "Why don't you and I go tell Allison what happened?"

"Allison," Chris whispers, shuddering. When he stands, his eyes are much drier than Lydia expected them to be. She wonders how messed up your family has to be for you to develop the ability to dry-cry. Lydia thinks if she had the knack down, she'd spend a lot less time with mascara problems.

As it is, someone else Lydia knew _is dead_. The force of the loss hits her and she turns, looking for somewhere to land. Stiles holds his arms out to her and Lydia takes the invitation, holding tight around his middle and crying against his plaid overshirt.

Another pair of arms wraps around Lydia and she's kind of surprised that it's Malia. Still, it's nice being between two people while she pulls herself together. Across the room, Scott and Kira hug each other. Derek has wandered away. From the other room, Allison's anguished, "No!" makes Lydia start crying again. 

A bud of optimism tries to bloom in Lydia's heart, telling her that this can't be forever, that she'll figure something out. It's hard to tend to that bloom when it's too late to save Mom. It's too late to save Isaac.

The buzzing in Lydia's head is only getting worse.

~*~

**Day 5, 10 am**

"Has there been anything on the radio?" Stiles asks, sitting down next to Allison on the couch. She puts down her book and shakes her head. "Nothing."

Stiles frowns and rubs at the sides of his face with both hands. "Dad promised he'd keep calling in."

"Maybe his radio got damaged." Allison reaches over and pats Stiles' arm. 

Stiles pulls away from her. "Yeah, or maybe he's undead somewhere." 

Allison levels a look at Stiles. He knows she's sympathetic, but it doesn't look like she's going to stand for whining either. "What do you want to do?"

Answering truthfully, Stiles says, "Get out of this goddamned house and go looking for him. Maybe he wants us to come join him at the shelter, but has no way of telling us that."

Eyes cataloging the living room around them, Allison asks, "Are you ready to leave here? We've got protection, food, water."

"We only have food and water as long as we have werewolves bringing it back for us," Stiles points out. The water stopped running the day before and Stiles would be lying if he didn't think everyone was starting to smell. Even Lydia. "I've got a big jar of mountain ash. I can make a circle wherever we end up. It's just–" Stiles sighs. He can't believe he's thinking this of the house that has always felt too big to him, with dark empty rooms in the corners and an attic he's been scared of since a bat got in when he and Scott were ten. "This house is too small."

Wincing as she does it, Allison stands up. "Let's round everyone up. See what they say."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles says, following after Allison. He grimaces in sympathy when she gasps and puts a hand to her belly before powering through it. "You want me to get Mima? I think she's still got a few doses left."

Allison leans against the wall for a moment, but shakes her head. "No, thanks. I've just got to get used to it."

No. Stiles can't have this. He gets around Allison and looks her dead in the face. "What are you doing?"

"What?" she asks, her mouth a tight line as she glares at him. The lighting in the hallway isn't great without electricity, but it's bright enough out that Stiles can see most of Allison's face. She looks pissed.

"Are you punishing yourself?" Stiles asks, pointing at where she still has a hand on her belly. "You almost _died_."

"But I didn't," she says, moving her hand to her hip.

" _I_ almost killed you!" Stiles points out, ignoring the way Allison's eyes go soft so he can get through this. "No way in hell am I letting you do it to yourself." Stiles snorts. "Over _Isaac_ of all people."

Stiles probably deserves it when Allison punches him in the face. Man, is he glad she's still recovering and not up to her full strength.

"Yeah, no, you're right," Stiles says, holding his hand to his cheekbone, like that's going to stop the swelling. "Sorry. I just–" A sigh escapes him as Stiles gathers his thoughts. "I'm scared, okay? Isaac is dead. My dad is probably dead."

Allison puts her hand on Stiles' shoulder, and he's proud of himself for not flinching. "I'm sure he's okay," she says. "He's the Sheriff."

"That just makes him stupid." Scratching at the back of his neck, Stiles says, "I _need_ to find out, okay? I know Scott and Mima are worried, too. I think things would be better if we could just _know_."

"We could send Derek and Malia to go find out?" Allison suggests.

Don't think Stiles doesn't notice the way Allison leaves Scott off the list of people who should risk their lives for Stiles' peace of mind. Stiles shakes his head. "No. No more splitting up. We either go all together, or not at all."

Nodding, Allison says, "That does seem to be the prevailing horror-movie wisdom. Isaac would probably still be alive if he hadn't run off on his own." She looks down at her hands. "I think Dad's going to be working on getting past it for awhile."

"Yeah." Stiles takes Allison's arm and throws it over his shoulders. "C'mon. Let's get everyone together in the kitchen. I think Derek brought back some oranges that are still good."

"Well, we wouldn't want anyone getting scurvy, now would we?" Allison chuckles weakly and accepts Stiles' help.

He deposits her at the kitchen table with an orange and heads out to find everyone else. Stiles very carefully does not think about how it would probably be better to sit tight here in the house until Allison is fully healed. But really, how long is that going to take? Stiles tried to find out, but it wasn't a very interesting topic until everything started going to shit and then the internet didn't work. He tried looking through some of Mima's medical books, but he couldn't find anything conclusive. He supposes he could just _ask_ Mima, but then he'd have to actually ask, and at this point, unless the answer is just one more day, he doesn't want to know the answer.

Stiles runs into Malia on the stairs and asks her, "Hey, have you seen Scott?"

"He's in his room," she says, with a smirk that Stiles doesn't understand until she continues. "With Kira."

"Are they…"

"Yep." Malia smirks and takes a few more steps until she's standing on the stair above Stiles'. Malia puts her hands on Stiles' shoulders and says, "Sounds like a nice way to pass the time."

Stiles feels the flush spread from his neck up into his cheeks and down his chest. He's so not used to this yet, which could be why he gets a little distracted wrapping his arms around Malia and kissing her. She kisses back harder, which is always the way it goes with Malia. Stiles likes it. Breaking away breathless, Stiles says, "Well, it's certainly life-affirming."

"Whatever that means," Malia says, jerking her head back up the stairs, "we could go do it some more."

Stiles' body says yes, his heart says hell yes, but his brain won't move on from what it's focused on. He releases his hold on Malia and takes a step back (and down). "Everyone's gathering in the kitchen," he tells her. "State of the Union address or whatever."

Malia tilts her head to the side, furrowing her brows. It's times like these that Stiles thinks she spent way too much time as a coyote. 

"We're deciding what to do next," he explains, getting around her and up to the top of the stairs. "Find the others?"

Disappointment spreads across Malia's face as she looks down for a second. Then she meets Stiles' eyes and gives him a half-smile. "Yeah. Sure."

Stiles smiles back, feeling very guilty at Malia's disappointment. Maybe once they find Dad, Stiles can make it up to her somehow. God, he wishes the internet was working. He'd love to be able to google tips on making his girlfriend happy. If she's even his girlfriend. Stiles hasn't really asked yet. He probably should do that before one or both of them dies. 

He points down at her with a grin, which he hopes will at least lighten her mood. "Kitchen. Five minutes!"

Malia shakes her head and waves as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Stiles thinks he maybe sees a smile in the dimpling of her cheek.

Sure enough, the door to Scott's room is closed. Briefly, Stiles wonders what he would see if he were to just barge right in. It could be funny. Then again, if this is the way Scott and Kira are dealing with what's going on, it would be pretty shitty of Stiles to make fun of them for it. Sighing, Stiles does the right thing and pounds on the door. 

"C'mon, kids," he calls through the door. "Meeting in the kitchen. Right now."

He hears Kira squeak and Scott groan. Something heavy hits the door. Probably a shoe, if Stiles knows Scott, and he does. "Go away, Stiles!"

"What's that, Mima?" Stiles says loudly. "No, I have no idea what Scott and Kira are doing in there! Probably playing Uno or–"

"Stiles," Mima's voice says from right behind him. Stiles gives a very manly yell of surprise and turns around to face her.

"Hey, Mima." He gives her his best get-out-of-jail smile. "How's it going?"

"Leave your brother alone," she says, and Stiles notices the dark circles under her eyes and the deep lines in her forehead. For the first time ever, she looks old to Stiles.

Stiles wraps his arms around Mima, pulling her into a tight hug.

Mima hugs him back, but chuckles, her voice a little less flat as she asks, "What's this about?"

"You looked like you needed it," Stiles says, hugging tighter for one more second before letting Mima go. "Not sleeping?"

Mima pats the side of Stiles' face and says, "Don't worry about me, sweetheart." Crossing her arms over her chest she asks, "What's this about a meeting?"

"Oh, right." Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets. He opens his mouth to explain, but then hesitates as Scott's door opens. Scott's right there, dressed and everything, with Kira behind him. Technically Kira's dressed, but her hair is doing this fantastic standing-up-on-one-side thing that makes Stiles just really, really proud of his brother. He tells all of them, "Meeting in the kitchen. I've got something I want to put to a vote."

"Alright," Scott says, lifting one brow. Kira has her hands in her hair, desperately trying to tame it while she looks in the mirror over Scott's dresser.

Mima mumbles something about, "When did this become a democracy?" She walks away toward the stairs, shaking her head.

The rest of the second floor is empty when he checks, so Stiles heads back to the kitchen. Lydia is sitting next to Allison, peeling a second orange. Malia is practicing putting her claws out, which she still still has trouble with sometimes. Derek watches Malia with this worried look that he clamps down on when he sees Stiles watching. Mima's at the breakfast bar, choking down a power bar. Scott and Kira are pretending not to share a can of orange juice. 

Stiles claps his hands together and says, "Alright, now that everyone is here."

Chris Argent and Coach Finstock brush by Stiles, Coach giving Stiles the eye and saying, "Really, Stilinski?" Stiles doesn't say anything about how they both smell like his dad's scotch. Stiles thinks that Coach is taking the whole werewolves-exist news fairly well. Of course, after zombies are a provable fact, everything else must seem easy to believe in comparison.

"Like I was saying," Stiles continues as Argent stands next to Mima and Coach rummages through one of the cupboards. "Now that we're all here, I want to float an idea. What if we joined Dad and the other survivors at the elementary school?"

"It's safe _here_ ," Chris Argent says. "I don't think we want to be heading in the _direction_ of any population center."

"What about Allison?" Lydia asks, handing Allison half of the orange she's peeled.

Allison takes it, but rolls her eyes. "I think it's a good idea. We can't just stay in this house forever. What if Sheriff Stilinski needs our help?"

"Sweetie," Mima says, getting up from her seat and walking closer to him. "I know you're scared about where your dad could be. I'm scared too. That doesn't mean we should just–" She sighs, looking around the room. "You know what? I've changed my mind. I won't be able to sleep until I know what's happened to my husband."

Scott frowns, looking over at Kira, who raises an eyebrow and shrugs. Stiles watches Scott's gaze travel to Allison for a moment, and then get stuck with Chris Argent. "We're running low on medical supplies. The school is only a few blocks from the hospital."

"The hospital we barely escaped with our lives?" Chris asks, taking a step toward Scott. "I don't think you realize what it's going to take to get there. By this point, there are probably _thousands_ of zombies between here and there."

"I vote for staying," Finstock says, his eyes so wide they look like they're bugging out of his head. 

Lydia stands up, studying Stiles' face. He feels self-conscious and sort of looks away before she starts to speak. "If we vote to stay here, are you going to go anyway?"

Stiles wants to tell her that he won't go, that he'll respect the decision of the group, but he knows it's not true. Stiles' mom is gone. Sure he still has his mima, but it's just not the same as having his dad. Stiles can't stand the thought of losing Dad. Not like this. The only acceptable way is when Dad is like eighty and has at least a dozen grandchildren. (Stiles is counting on Scott to produce at least ten of those grandchildren, because God knows Stiles doesn't have that sort of patience). 

Stiles can't find it in himself to lie with Lydia looking at him like she'll know whether he tells the truth or not. "Yeah," he admits, sending an apologetic look at Scott. "Yeah, I'm going."

"We need to stick together," Allison says, standing and waving her away when Malia tries to help. "We need to find others and help them." She looks around at everyone, ending with Scott. "We can't have this ability to help and just keep it to ourselves."

Malia asks, "You don't care if we end up like Isaac?"

Argent's voice is so loud it startles Stiles. "Isaac _died_." He lowers his voice before continuing, taking a few more steps toward Allison. "Isaac died making sure the rest of us were going to be safe. He died a hero."

Silence hangs over the room for several long moments. Stiles can practically feel the room shifting in his direction. He knew he was right to seek out Allison as his accomplice. Maybe it's been the severe personal growth and the near-death experience, but she's become excellent at shifting people's opinion. Stiles feels kind of sorry for Scott, because he knows that Allison and Scott are going to get married eventually, and Scott is never going to get in the last word.

Of course, looking over at Scott, who managed to make _himself_ an alpha after being a werewolf for not even a year, Stiles thinks maybe they're perfect for each other, and Stiles should feel sorry for their third. 

Eventually Derek breaks the silence. "What are we waiting for? We've got twelve more hours of daylight."

"Shouldn't we at least take a vote?" Lydia asks, staring Derek down and then looking to Stiles, her hands clasped in front of her on the table, like this is just some student council meeting.

Stiles nods. "Sure. Let's do this. Everyone who wants to go?" Stiles raises his own hand, and watches in gratification as most of the other hands join his. "Everyone against?"

Coach raises his hand, scoffing when everyone else keeps theirs down. "Whatever, idiots."

"Lydia?" Kira asks. "Why didn't you vote?"

"I can't tell," she says softly, those clasped hands going white in the knuckles. "I can't tell if it's a good idea or a bad one. I can't tell who's next." There are tears in her eyes when she looks up at Allison. "I don't _know_."

"It's okay," Allison tells her, taking the few steps over to Lydia and bending just enough to put her hand on Lydia's forearm. "None of us know, either. It's okay. We just have to–" Allison pauses and looks around the room, giving Stiles a nod. "We have to be brave. Like Isaac was."

Lydia takes a deep breath and nods as she lets it out. "Okay. Let's go."

"Fill your packs with necessities," Chris Argent says. "Food, water, medicine. _Nothing_ else. We'll put everything else in the cars, if for some miracle, we can get through town without the engines drawing too much attention."

"Maybe we should just leave the cars," Kira suggests, but Stiles sees the exact moment when she realizes the mistake in her suggestion. "Or just take one of the cars," she says quickly, "for those of us who can't walk...very quickly, at least."

Stiles chuckles at the way Allison rolls her eyes and says, "Unless someone's been hiding a horse-drawn carriage, I think Kira's right. We're going to need at least one."

"The next-door neighbors have a Prius," Mima points out. "I mean, I don't know how to hotwire a Prius, but those things run so quiet Marion almost ran me over last month when I didn't hear her coming out of the driveway."

Stiles' chest clenches with excitement at what a good idea it is. He steps over to Mima and plants a big kiss on her cheek. "That's the best idea, ever! Someone here has to know how to get a Prius going without the key."

Sheepishly, Kira raises her hand. "I've been practicing on my dad's car," she says, pressing her lips together and raising her eyebrows in Scott's direction, like she's afraid he's going to be disappointed in her or something. Stiles isn't at all surprised when Scott grins and hugs her.

Stiles knows that Scott is a good guy. He almost always does things for the right reasons. He also knows that Scott is the same boy who grew up acting as look-out for all the things Stiles wanted to get away with, and did with Scott's help.

It takes maybe half an hour for everyone to get ready. Stiles breaks the mountain ash ring, scooping as much of the ash up off the floor as he can and brushing it back into the jar. He could have put the barrier back, to protect the house while they're gone, but he can't bring himself to leave even that small amount of ash behind. Stiles isn't naive. He knows this one jar of mountain ash won't last forever, but he figures the longer they stay alive, the longer they have for this to all blow over.

God help him, even though Stiles knows he shouldn't, he still believes that this is going to blow over.

They troop out of the house as a unit, Allison's arms slung over Lydia and Melissa's shoulders. A zombie appears across the street. Scott and Derek quickly and quietly put it down. Stiles notices, even from a couple dozen yards away, that Scott causes the zombie as little pain as possible before putting his claws in the zombie's spine. Stiles knows that Scott wouldn't be Scott without that instinct, but it's going to get him killed. 

Stiles just has to be smart enough that it never happens.

Once Kira gets the Prius going, Allison gets in the passenger seat, Mima gets in the driver's seat, and everyone else fills the back with most of the supplies and water they had in the house. The march into town is slow and exhausting, with the car going slow enough that its engine doesn't make much noise. They run across zombies here and there, but nothing like the army of undead that Mr. Argent ran into a few nights before. 

Walking next to Stiles, her hand sometimes folded in his, Malia says, "Maybe they moved on. Like to the next town over."

From his other side, Lydia says, "Maybe they're around the next corner."

Stiles feels in the middle, and not in the good way. He'd be lying if he said he's never imagined being in a triad with both Malia and Lydia. Stiles has always imagined himself as the kind of guy who'd end up in a two-dude triad, but he thinks that's maybe a result of mainstream media brainwashing, rather than what he actually wants. Like, he had two moms growing up, and he's never thought there was anything wrong or less-than-optimal about his family. Well, up until his Mom died. That could've been more optimal.

Maybe he'll have to ask Malia what she thinks about Lydia. 

"I'd hear them if they were around the next corner," Malia replies, giving Lydia a confused look. 

Lydia scoffs and takes a few long steps until she's walking next to Scott. Okay, maybe trying to make Malia and Lydia like each other isn't going to happen.

Derek jogs past then, tapping Malia on the shoulder as he does. She squeezes Stiles' hand once more and gives him a smile before running after Derek. Scott joins them and as they run away, Stiles wonders what Malia thinks about Derek. Like, he's kind of old for them, but it's not like they have many choices now that everyone's dead.

Then Stiles remembers that before all this zombie stuff, Lydia told him she and Allison found out that Malia is Peter Hale's biological daughter. Peter is also Derek's uncle, which makes Malia and Derek cousins. Stiles puts that image of the three of them together entirely out of his head. 

Ahead of them, Stiles sees a larger group of zombies. There aren't hundreds of them, but there's at least ten. Scott leads Malia and Derek into the group, bowling them down with a giant leap into the fray. Kira hurries to catch up to them, her sword in fighting position. Chris Argent pulls out a cattle prod (Stiles wonders if he got Kira to charge it up for him), and Finstock holds up his hockey stick, like that's going to work. Stiles probably shouldn't talk, when the only weapon he has is an aluminum baseball bat. 

Things go alright for awhile, and then two zombies manage to pull Malia down to the ground. Stiles' heart leaps up into his throat and he doesn't stop himself from running toward the big, infectious group of them. Luckily, it's hard to pull a zombie's focus, so Stiles gets in one good swing before any of them try to grab him.

A few more swings and Stiles gets Malia back on her feet. She pushes him away from the fight with a quick, "Thanks!" and then goes back to crushing zombies left and right.

The fight ends before Stiles can get in any more trouble. The road below them is littered with bodies from sidewalk to sidewalk, which Stiles realizes is a problem. The Prius rolls up and Stiles nods at Malia, "Help me clear a path?"

It takes Malia a moment to catch on, but when she does, she agrees. Derek automatically helps as well, taking a body away from Stiles when he goes to grab it by the wrists. "You don't think I can do it?" Stiles asks Derek, clutching at his chest like its his wounded pride.

"I don't want you to get infected," Derek says, tossing the body aside. Malia shoves another one away and Scott drags two from the middle of the road. Now there's a path for the car to fit through.

"Oh," Stiles says, assessing Derek's true motives by giving him a long look. "Well, thanks."

Derek rolls his eyes and brushes past Stiles. Malia gives Stiles a grin and brushes past as well, catching up to Derek. 

Their route to the school takes them past the Sheriff's station, where Scott waves Mima to a stop. "We'll check here first," Scott says, waving at Stiles, Derek, and Kira to follow him. "You good here?" Scott asks Malia, who nods. 

Malia gestures toward the car, with Mima and Allison inside. "I'll keep them safe. You watch out for Stiles."

Stiles is actually pretty touched that Malia is worried about him. 

Scott smiles at Stiles before telling Malia, "Don't worry." He waves at Chris Argent and Coach, too, telling them to stay put. "We've got this."

As soon as they're out of werecoyote ear shot, Scott whispers in Stiles' ear, "Stick close, alright?"

"Right behind you, Scotty," Stiles says, gripping his bat tighter. There's no telling what they're going to find inside the station.

Kira's right behind Stiles and Derek brings up the rear of their little group. The foyer of the station is empty and hardly anything seems out of place. There's one desk that's askew, a pile of papers spilled from it onto the floor, but otherwise the station looks almost the same as it did last week, when everything was relatively normal. 

If being possessed by a Japanese fox demon could ever be considered normal. 

When Scott stops short, Stiles almost runs into him. Stiles looks past Scott and asks, "What is it?"

"There's a heartbeat," Scott says, looking back at Derek. 

Derek's eyes go wide and he rushes past all of them and back toward the holding cells. Scott goes after Derek and Stiles doesn't want to be left behind, so he follows, Kira right behind him. 

In the cell on the right sits someone in uniform, but Stiles can tell right away that the hair is wrong and the shoulders are too slight for it to be Dad. It's Deputy Parrish.

"Hey, guys," he says with a sheepish grin as he stands up. "Uh, be careful. There was one here a couple hours ago."

"Are you locked in?" Stiles asks, taking note of the closed cell door and the lack of anyone else in the room. "Where's my Dad?"

Parrish shakes his head, stepping closer to the bars. "I don't know. We got separated last night. I–" Parrish snorts and shakes his head. "I didn't have time to grab the keys before I locked myself in."

"Why did you lock yourself in?" Kira asks him, her eyes on Derek as he goes to the bars. 

Derek grasps a bar from the door and one from the wall of the cell and then pulls. The door pops open and Parrish's eyes go wide.

"Wow," Parrish says. "I mean, the Sheriff said something about you guys being strong. I sort of thought it was a metaphor."

"Where did Dad go?" Scott asks, watching as Kira hands Parrish a protein bar from her pocket, which he immediately demolishes. 

Parrish, still chewing, says, "I came here from the shelter to get more ammo. Deputy Yates was with me." Parrish looks down as he swallows. "They surprised us. Got Yates. I think maybe they ate him before he could turn." Parrish shudders and Stiles can't say he blames the deputy.

"You locked yourself in to get away from them?" Kira asks, handing him one of the water bottles from her backpack. 

Parrish takes a few long gulps and nods. "I only had one bullet left. I mean, I was kind of saving it in case..."

Stiles really doesn't want to think about why a guy holds onto his past bullet in a life or death situation. He gets enough nightmares, thanks.

Derek pats Parrish on the shoulder, giving him an encouraging half-smile. God, Stiles didn't even know Derek was capable of smiling like that. Being able to help with the whole nogitsune situation must have really done Derek some good. At least _something_ good came out of it, because Stiles is fairly certain he's a different person than he was before, and that those changes haven't been for the better.

~*~

**Day 5, noon**

Once the Sheriff's station has been checked and double-checked, the others come in from the car. Kira wishes she could send just the right electrical impulse to lock the car, in case someone still alive finds all the food and water stashed in it. Malia sees her looking and says, "I'll keep watch. I wouldn't know what bullets are useful, anyway."

"Thanks," Kira replies, giving Malia a smile. She thinks she and Malia are probably friends, but it's hard to be sure. Kira likes having friends. Malia's kind of strange after growing up as a coyote, but Kira likes strange. She'd like it if Malia was her friend. She thinks maybe if Malia wasn't dating one brother and Kira the other that she'd consider liking Malia as more than friends, but right now friends are good.

Kira waves at Malia and hitches the bag of food further up on her shoulder. She brings it back into the sheriff's station and finds the others in the Sheriff's office. Parrish and Derek are sitting on the couch with Scott. Mrs. Stilinski is in her husband's chair, Coach and Allison are sitting in the chairs across from her. Stiles is perched precariously on one edge of the desk, while Mr. Argent stands by the window. Lydia's pacing near Stiles, one hand to her lips. Thinking there's hardly any room for another person, Kira sits on the arm of the couch next to Scott.

Parrish is saying, "I don't know, you guys. I stopped getting responses from the shelter last night. They're just not on the radio, which probably means–"

"Means that their walkie-talkie got busted," Mrs. Stilinski says. "It doesn't mean that there's no one left alive over there."

"We don't even know if there's anyone alive anywhere," Coach says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Stiles shrugs one shoulder. "Last I had data and battery, this thing hadn't made it to Europe or Africa yet."

"When was that?" Kira asks, noticing he said nothing about New York, or the entire continent of Asia. "What day?"

Stiles rubs at his face and shrugs again. "I don't even know. I'm not even sure what day it is."

"Tuesday," Mr. Argent says, holding up his wrist with a watch on it. "The 17th. This started less than a week ago."

"That we know of," Lydia points out, giving Stiles a look before quickly averting her gaze. "It could've started three weeks ago."

Scott leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He addresses Lydia when he asks, "If it did start three weeks ago, don't you think you would have noticed?"

Lydia lifts her eyebrows at Scott. "We were all a little preoccupied, now weren't we?"

Kira doesn't feel like a listening to circular arguments and blame, so she gets up, leaving the room to do another sweep. She thinks maybe she should poke her head out the front door and check on Malia, too. Just in case. 

Kira gets distracted by a panel of different colored buttons and a microphone. Just like everything else in the past few days, when Kira presses the power button, nothing happens. Something about it tells her not to walk away just yet, so Kira pokes around a little more. 

A voice startles Kira. "What'cha doin'?" It's Deputy Parrish, watching her. All the others are still in the Sheriff's office. 

"It looks like there's a battery back-up," she says, pointing to the case underneath what's probably the dispatch desk. 

"Yeah," Parrish says, taking a few careful steps forward, his face friendly. "It only lasts twelve hours. Sheriff station's top priority to get electricity back in an outage."

"If there was anyone left to make it a priority," Kira says. She wants to try something. She's only ever lit light jobs and started a car, but she thinks she can do this. 

Unplugging the dispatch box, Kira puts her hand on the battery. She traces to where it's plugged into the wall and unplugs it as well. Grabbing both prongs of that plug, Kira pours her power into the battery. It feels right and nothing explodes, so Kira figures it's working. 

"What are you doing?" Parrish asks, crouching down a few feet away. Kira likes the way he respects her personal space. She also likes the way his face looks like he's in absolute awe of what she can do. 

"Getting the radio going," Kira says, gritting her teeth as it gets harder and harder to push any power into the battery. Sparks escape her grasp now and then, but overall she keeps her control. Mom would be proud. "We need news."

"The range on this thing is only maybe ten miles while on the battery. Who are you hoping to call?"

Kira wonders if she can boost the radio's signal strength with her power. She's definitely going to have to take more physics next semester, so maybe she can start to get a handle on using her power correctly. To answer Parrish's question, Kira shrugs. "Anyone who might be listening. I mean, it's not like these zombies have learned how to use the radio."

Parrish chuckles, watching as Kira plugs the dispatch panel. The lights flare to life and Kira feels so proud of herself. Parrish takes the handset and starts pushing buttons. Eventually, he presses the button on the handset and says, "Attention, attention. This is Beacon County Sheriff's office broadcasting on all frequencies. Is anyone there?"

When he stops speaking, Parrish turns up the volume on the speaker. It's all static for a long few moments. Shrugging at Kira, Parrish tries again, repeating the same thing.

This time there's a crackle and a tinny voice says, "Beacon? This is Shoreview PD!"

"Shoreview!" Parrish cries into the handset, grinning widely at Kira, reaching out toward her. Kira doesn't even think before grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. This is just too exciting. Someone else is alive!

Parrish continues. "What's the situation up there? You got power?"

"We– ...generator. Five more days of gas. Talked to Coast Guard...?" The signal is full of static and weak, but it's there.

"Not for days, Shoreview," Parrish replies, scrunching up his face. "We jury-rigged enough power for the radio. They sending the National Guard?"

The reply comes back after a few tense seconds of static. "...sure there is a National Guard anymore."

Kira grabs Parrish's other hand, squeezing to make the handset button press down. "How far has this spread? Is it on the East Coast?"

"East Coast?" Shoreview takes a few seconds of silence, before saying, "Not as of yesterday. No report in today." 

Kira sighs in relief. Her pop might still be alive. When all of this is over, she might not be an orphan. She releases Parrish's hand when he gives her a look. Speaking into the radio again, Parrish asks, "How many survivors you got, Shoreview?"

"Four of us," Shoreview says. "You?"

"Eleven that we're sure of," Parrish says, giving Kira a wide-eyed look. "What's your name, Shoreview?"

"Kelsey Perez." the voice on the other side sounds shaky, like the Shoreview officer is starting to lose her cool. Kira imagines she must be scared, and probably lonely, even if she has three other people to keep her company. Kira has ten, and it's nothing like life used to be before, with all the random people she'd see on a daily basis.

His voice going softer, but upbeat, like he's trying to make Kelsey feel better, Parrish introduces himself. "Jordan Parrish. It's nice to meet you, Kelsey."

"I-" A loud burst of static cuts off the rest of Officer Perez's reply and the dispatch board goes dark. 

"Shit," Parrish says, throwing the handset onto the desk. Kira notices that Scott is standing at the doorway, watching them.

"Maybe I can get it going again," Kira says, unplugging the dispatch board from the battery and trying to push electricity into it again. It seems like it might be working, but then Kira's head swims and her vision goes black. 

When she can see again, Kira is in Scott's arms, with both him and Parrish looking down at her. "Whoa," she says, sitting up. "I guess…"

"You need some rest," Scott insists. "Probably something to eat." He looks up and asks, "Deputy Parrish, do you think we could get our car in the precinct garage?"

"Maybe," Parrish says with a shrug. "The door openers are electric," he gives Kira a concerned look, "but maybe we can disconnect them and just pull the doors open with a little elbow grease."

"We've got elbow grease," Scott replies.

Kira ends up sitting in the Sheriff's office, with Allison sitting at one end of the couch and Kira at the other. Chris Argent's standing just outside the office, but he seems more interested in listening out for danger than staring at Kira and Allison be awkward together.

Eventually Kira feels like she _has_ to say something, so she goes with the first thing she can think of. "I'm sorry about Isaac."

"Yeah," Allison replies, shifting in her seat. She gives Kira a shaky, but friendly smile. "Scott said you haven't talked to your parents."

Kira looks down at her hands, the edges of her vision swimming. She shakes her head. "The last text I got from my dad was after I told him I was going to Lydia's to study. I–"

Since it's been a few days since she's let herself cry about this, Kira is powerless to stop the tears from falling. Allison shifts closer and puts an arm around Kira's shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"At least you _know_ ," Kira says, immediately regretting it. Just because she's in pain doesn't mean she should keep reminding Allison of Isaac's death.

"Yeah." Allison pulls her arm tighter around Kira, leaning her head on Kira's shoulder. Kira didn't think they were this close, but then again, fighting with someone tends to break down some barriers. "Can I tell you something?"

Kira wipes her eyes. "Like what?"

Allison gives Kira a half smile, the dimple on one cheek deeper than the other. "I didn't even like Isaac all that much." She laughs a little and shakes her head, wiping away a tear. "I mean, I _did_ like him. I liked him enough to sleep with him."

Kira didn't know that fact, not that it's any of her business who sleeps with whom. There's still this part in the back of her brain that thrills at hearing the gossip. Still, Kira can tell that Allison's not telling the whole story, "But?"

Sighing, Allison shrugs. "But I didn't love him the way I loved Scott."

"That doesn't mean you can't miss him," Kira insists, turning her head to lay it against Allison's. It's nice, cuddling like this. Kira hasn't had a girlfriend to cuddle with since before she moved away from New York. Or a girlfriend to do anything else with, for that matter. Flushing at the thought, Kira puts it out of her head and clears her throat. "I mean, I was pretty mad when my Pop decided not to move to Beacon Hills with us. That didn't mean I haven't missed him every day since then."

Allison moves her arm from around Kira's shoulders to around Kira's bicep. In a quiet voice, she asks, "How is Scott?"

Kira thinks about her answer for a moment before she gives it. "I'm not sure. We haven't had much time to talk about what's going on. I know–" Kira chuckles, shaking her head. "I know he left me with Derek and Malia so he could go check on you in the hospital. So…"

"Sorry," Allison says. "I was sort of hoping that if I moved on, he could move on, too."

"I don't think he wants to move on," Kira says, shifting partway off the couch so she can get a better look at Allison's face. Pale with dark circles under her eyes, it's obvious that Allison is still in recovery. The sight makes Kira's chest clench with an emotion she doesn't quite recognize. Still, Kira smiles at Allison and says what's on the tip of her tongue. "I can see why he wouldn't."

Brows rising on her forehead, Allison's eyes go wide for a second, before she smiles. When Allison smiles, Kira can understand how anyone would fall in love with her. "Thanks," Allison says, looking down shyly. 

When Kira settles back on the couch, she expects Allison to move away, but Allison doesn't. She settles against Kira's shoulder, hands still around Kira's arm, like Allison needs _someone_ to hold onto. As Allison's eyes slip shut and her breaths even out, Kira realizes she doesn't mind being that someone.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 5, 4 pm**

Scott gets back into the station proper after helping hide the Prius (and their food stash) in the station's garage, and he sees Allison and Kira asleep together on his dad's office couch. He feels like he's missed something. Since when have Kira and Allison been anything other than acquaintances that had Scott and his group of friends in common?

Then Scott gets this little thrill in his gut. What if they like each other? What if Scott and Allison can get over their history and get together again? What if Scott gets to be in a triad?

Scott's optimism is quickly squashed when he realizes that Allison was with Isaac, who is dead. Scott hasn't let himself take the time to feel anything about Isaac's death, even though he knows he should. He kind of figures that there will be time to grieve when things calm down and he doesn't have to worry about keeping everyone safe anymore. He's already failed to keep Isaac alive, and Scott is afraid that if he lets himself feel it, the guilt over Isaac's death will distract him. 

After all, Isaac was Scott's friend. Scott thinks he probably could have developed feelings for Isaac, given the chance. Once he lets himself, Scott will cry over Isaac's death, he will grieve for his friend and all the things Isaac will never get to be. Scott will grieve for the time he spent being mad at Isaac for being with Allison when Scott couldn't be. Scott will grieve for the possibility that could have been Scott-and-Allison-and-Isaac. Today is not a good day for that grieving. 

Today Scott will protect his family and his friends to the best of his ability. Today, Scott will find out what happened to his father. 

Today, Scott will start believing he can predict the future, because at that moment, he hears a voice outside that sounds an awful lot like his father. Scott hurries out of the station and into the street, Derek on his heels. At the end of the block, there's a group of people moving quickly, like they're running away from something. Scott can guess what they're running from. 

Scott starts to move toward them until he remembers Allison and Kira asleep in Dad's office. Until Stiles sets a new mountain ash barrier, someone has to keep watch over the sleeping. Scott looks over his shoulder and tells Derek, "Stay here. Protect the others."

Derek frowns at Scott, making an aborted move toward the commotion before he stops himself. After a second, Derek nods and points forward. "Go. Go!"

Scott heads out, running toward the fight and his father. "Dad!" Scott cries as he arrives, punching a zombie out of the way. 

Dad doesn't acknowledge Scott, but he's busy fighting off a zombie with a fireman's axe. There are a handful of other people with Dad, including one of Dad's deputies. Scott notices a woman about to get grabbed by a zombie, so he forgoes any further conversation. 

By now, Scott knows exactly how to take down a zombie as quickly as possible. They're very consistent in the way that they fight, so Scott hasn't been surprised by anything a zombie has done since the first day he fought them. Scott takes out this group quickly, Malia and Kira at his sides, Stiles and Derek ushering people into the station and out of harms' way. 

When Scott severs the last spinal cord, he wipes the smelly zombie goop from his claws and sighs in relief. "Dad! You're okay."

"Oh, you have no idea," Dad says, pulling Scott into a hug. Stiles barrels into them from the side, demanding attention the way he's always done. Mom comes out of the station, holding Dad in a long embrace until Scott hears more zombie feet coming and urges everyone inside.

When they're settled, some of them in the Sheriff's office, others just outside and sticking close, Scott asks, "What happened, Dad?"

Dad shakes his head, pulling Mom down onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her (which is equally sweet and gross). "We couldn't defend it. There were too many entrances and exits. "

Scott hears Stiles mutter, "I told you so," but Dad doesn't seem to hear it. If he does, he's ignoring it, which really is for the best. Scott hates it when Stiles gets into arguments with their parents, even though he knows Stiles finds it more thrilling than upsetting. 

Scott just wants everyone to be happy and safe. There aren't that many of them now. It should be possible to keep them safe. It's just, Scott isn't quite sure _how_.

Later that evening, while everyone is camped out in the Sheriff's station and Stiles has put a mountain ash circle around the station, Scott sits down with his friends. Malia's already asleep, her back against Stiles' thigh. Lydia's helping Allison tie her hair back, and Kira and Stiles are playing the world's most melancholy game of war in the light of a battery-powered lantern Dad had stashed in the station's emergency gear. Scott notices Derek talking to Deputy Parrish across the room. Scott almost wants to call Derek over for this conversation, but he can't quite make himself do it because of the way Parrish is smiling at Derek, and the way Derek's almost smiling back.

"Guys," Scott says as he sits down between Kira and Allison. "I want to talk to you about something."

"What is it, Scotty?" Stiles asks, laying down two cards and then a third, face-up. Doing a little fist-pump, Stiles smirks at Kira, who lays down her next card and loses the pile.

"I want to know how big we can make a mountain ash circle," Scott says, meeting Stiles' eyes and then looking over to Lydia, because she's been reading up on all of the information she's been able to get her hands on.

It's Stiles who answers, "Depends on how much mountain ash you've got. And, well…" Stiles holds out his empty hands, palms-up.

"Where does the ash come from?" Kira asks. "It's a tree, right?"

"Rowan tree," Lydia replies, her eyes on Allison's hair as she finishes off the braid. "Native to the northern hemisphere, including Britain and Eurasia, as well as the North American North East. Not native to California."

Allison sighs. "Do we think Deaton has any more?"

Scott wishes he could say yes. "I don't know. Maybe at his office."

"If he didn't take it all when he left town," Stiles says with a scoff, placing down a new card. "That's the last time anyone's heard from him, right? When he abandoned Malia and Derek?"

Scott doesn't think Stiles' fury is entirely fair to Deaton, who might very well be dead or trapped somewhere with no way to call for help. Still, Scott can't quite bring himself to say out loud why Stiles is wrong.

It's Allison who breaks the silence. "Why did you want to know about the mountain ash?"

"There's a bunch of us now," Scott says, looking around the desks at where other groups are curled up around their own lanterns. "I thought if we could surround, like, a couple buildings, maybe build some walls. That way we could protect everyone."

"Thirty thousand of them versus twenty of us?" Lydia laughs. "Even if we did have enough mountain ash, _you_ were able to break through it. How do we know tons of body weight won't collapse the barrier?"

"I don't think they're all going to pile on at once, will they?" Kira asks. "Like you said, there could be thousands of them. Why would they bother with us?"

Stiles makes an aggrieved noise. "Why would the dead come back to life?" He points at Scott. "No, I like this wall idea. What're we going to build it out of?"

"Whatever we can find," Scott replies. "I mean, it's not like the zombies are very strong. They won't be able to push their way through walls made out of wood."

Lydia raises her eyebrow at Scott and asks, "Then what went wrong at the school?" Shifting away from Allison, Lydia wraps her arms around her knees. "The school had walls, but those things got in anyway."

"I talked to Dad about that," Stiles says, giving Scott an apologetic smile, like he was sorry he didn't make sure Scott was in on the conversation. "One of the windows was unlocked. There were so many zombies around the building that one of them happened to pound on the one that would give."

Scott points at his brother, but addresses Lydia. "See? If we build a wall without windows and use mountain ash to secure it, we can actually sleep at night. We can go use _the latrine_ outside without fearing for our lives."

"I think Lydia's right," Allison says, which Scott has to admit hurts his feelings more than he wishes it would. "The sheer weight of the zombies will be a problem unless we make the walls pretty thick. More like a– a–" She pauses, looking up like she can't quite think of the word. "Like a castle, than a fence."

Kira sets her hand on Scott's knee as she leans into the circle of the group. "We should make sure the outside can't be climbed. It should be sheer, like _shump_!" Kira brings down her hand in time with the sound. Then she looks at Scott with wide eyes. "What if they start climbing _each other_?"

"That's what the mountain ash is for," Stiles tells her, knocking his toes against Kira's boot. "And lucky for you guys, I know where a couple mountain ash trees are planted."

Scott frowns at Stiles, trying to express how unnecessary Stiles' mind games are at this particular moment. "Why didn't you mention it earlier?"

"They're in Ms. Lander's front yard," Stiles says with a wince. "Frankly, I'm afraid of getting shot. You know there's no way that old bird isn't still alive inside her house with that rifle of hers."

Scott nods. Ms. Lander is this elderly lady on their street. Rumor around the neighborhood has it that she's outlived three wives and four husbands. Scott isn't sure if it's true or not, but he's seen Ms. Lander shooting squirrels out of her yard with that rifle. He says, "Once I asked Dad why he didn't give her a ticket for, like, public endangerment."

"What did he say?" Kira asks, smiling at Scott.

Butterflies in his stomach, Scott smiles back at her and replies, "He said he wanted to live to see fifty."

Kira laughs, as does Stiles. Allison and Lydia both smile. Finally, Scott has a plan. He has a plan and he thinks that maybe they can hold everything together long enough for everything to go back to normal. Scott likes normal. 

Now Scott just has to convince his dad, as the reigning authority figure left in this town, that his plan is the best one they've got.

~*~

**Day 13, midday**

"I got another box of nails," Allison says as she climbs the haphazard scaffolding up to where her father is working. "Jordan and Derek brought back a whole bunch from their run to the hardware store."

Dad takes the box, setting it down next to his feet as he lifts another board. Allison thinks this one was salvaged from the house on Elm, but she's not sure. She hadn't been strong enough to go with them on the day they tore down that house. Now, a week after they started building the castle, Allison feels a lot better. Her range of motion improves every day and she's starting to get better at walking longer and longer distances.

She thinks it's odd, to be healing at all, when the world around her has fallen apart. 

Dad looks at the board in his hand before asking Allison, "You strong enough to climb up here?"

Allison grins. She's been waiting for an excuse to show that she's not helpless. Climbing up the makeshift ladder makes the muscles in Allison's core ache, but there aren't any sharp pains, so she keeps climbing. At the top, Allison gives Dad a grin. It's probably the same grin she gave when she was seven and made her first bullseye, but Allison doesn't care. She's proud of herself. 

Dad shakes his head, but the edges of his lips twitch upward. He nods at one end of the board. "Hold that up, would you?"

"Sure."

They hammer a few boards onto the inner side of the framework they've assembled. Scott's big wall idea is coming along well, and it's been much better since one of the survivors suggested building an empty wall and filling it with material looted from homes and business in the surrounding area. 

At the center of the closed off area is the town wishing well. Surprisingly, Coach Finstock found that it still had clear water at the bottom. Everyone except Allison has been taking turns hauling water up from the well and boiling it at Melissa Stilinski's insistence, to make sure it's safe to drink. Allison thinks the water tastes kind of gross and rusty, but she figures beggars can't be choosers. 

Allison watches her Dad build for a few moments before asking a question that's been on her mind for awhile. "Dad? When Isaac–" Allison pauses to collect her resolve. "Did Isaac give you a choice, or did he make the decision on his own?"

Dad frowns, letting his hammer down to dangle at his side as he looks at Allison. His eyes flick down to the ground before he answers. "I don’t know,” he says, heaving a sigh. “I could say that Isaac made the decision on his own, that he didn’t give me a choice, that he gave his life for mine. But–“

Allison waits for a second for Dad to continue, but she gets impatient before he’s able to gather his thoughts. “But what?”

“I can’t help thinking I should have kept an eye on him for longer.” Dad looks up, meeting Allison’s gaze with wet eyes. “I could’ve circled back. I could’ve helped him.”

This was not the answer Allison had expected. Maybe Dad is overthinking this or remembering wrong. “No. There was nothing you could do,” she says out loud, like that will make it true. She wishes she remembered more about that night, but she’d either been drugged or in pain. “There was nothing.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Dad says, pulling Allison into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

Allison nods against Dad’s chest, readjusting her body so the pull through her stomach muscles isn’t so tight. “It’s worth a lot,” she says before she lets go. Clearing her throat, Allison says, “Here, I’ll hold this end.”

Dad looks at Allison’s face for a long moment before he lifts his hammer and gets back to work.

In truth, no matter what happened that night, Allison isn’t sure how she feels about Isaac’s death. She’s sad, obviously, but the depth of her sadness feels wrong; too shallow, somehow. Allison should be absolutely devastated, shouldn’t she? This feels nothing like losing her mother. It feels nothing like the short moment when Scott stopped breathing and Allison couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking long enough to sew up the hole in his side.

Allison thinks she should admit to herself that she’s a little bit relieved, even if she’s not sure why. Maybe if she could admit that she’s not having perfect, girlfriend-ly thoughts about Isaac’s death, she could feel guilty and be done with it.

She already feels guilty about the fact that Isaac left the safety of the house to go help _her_ father when no one asked him to. Isaac probably thought it would be a nice thing to do for Allison, not necessarily for Dad or for the ammunition Dad brought back for the group. 

What must it have been like for Isaac? When would he have realized he wasn’t going to survive? Lydia says that the zombies must have torn him apart, because as far as they knew werewolves were still immune to a zombie’s bite. Allison wishes she could have saved him, or at least been with him at the end, so he would have known he wasn’t alone.

Allison wishes she was still as strong as she used to be. Holding up a board so Dad can hammer it in place feels like a Herculean effort. Allison does it anyway. She’s never going to get back to full strength unless she pushes herself. She’s never going to be able to protect the people she cares about unless she dedicates herself to making it happen.

Allison is an Argent. She knows all about the proper application of hard work.

She thinks maybe she's learned a thing or two about asking for help as well. "Dad?" Allison asks, scrunching up her nose as Dad drives the nail the rest of the way in with three more whacks of his hammer.

Dad stops and looks at her. "Yeah?"

"How do you move past it? Like all the guilt and the grief and all of it?" Allison can't help but look away from Dad as she asks, the intensity of his gaze too much for her to handle.

Dad's silent for a moment before clearing his throat. Allison looks up, watching as Dad shuffles his feet and says, "You make yourself do it. You tell yourself there're too many problems to deal with in the present. Dwelling in the past causes more harm than good."

Snorting, Allison asks, "Does that work?"

A wry smile playing on his lips, Dad nods. "Sometimes."

Sometimes is good enough for her.

When Allison starts to get tired of holding her arms up (which happens far too quickly for her liking), she climbs back down to the ground to take a break. Once there, she passes Scott, who turns and walks with her. "How're you doing?" he asks, his brows drawn together in concern.

"Fine," Allison says, but her voice comes out breathier than she'd like. She tries to give Scott an encouraging smile.

His face grows even more concerned, so much so that Allison starts to wonder if she's got something on her face.

"What?" she asks, stopping at the corner of the Sheriff's station and leaning against it. The sun is warm today, already breaking through the fog that comes from the coast. 

Scott puts a hand out, then hesitates. When Allison doesn't make any motion to wave him away, Scott cradles her elbow in his hand. "Have you been crying?"

Confused, Allison rubs her hand against her eyes. They feel a little grainy, maybe, but not wet. "It's nothing," she tells him, trying again to smile and convince Scott that he doesn't have to worry about her.

"Okay," Scott says with a nod, taking away his hand. Allison hates how much she misses it as soon as it's gone. He gives Allison another encouraging smile and says, "I just want you to know, I'm going to do everything I can to keep everyone who's left alive. You, your Dad, my family…"

"No," Allison says, allowing herself to reach out and grasp Scott's hand. She squeezes it and says, " _We're_ going to do everything we can."

The brilliant smile Scott gives her breaks Allison's heart, but it also makes her think that maybe a second chance is in her future.

~*~

**Day 13, late afternoon**

“You know,” Stiles says as he takes the things Derek hands up to him and throws them into the empty space in the wall, “this would be a lot easier with another werewolf on our side. Any idea what happened to Peter?”

Derek shrugs and rolls his eyes, giving Stiles something that looks like it’s a broken-up curb. Stiles tries not to look like he’s struggling as he lifts it up and then lets it drop onto the pile between the walls. As Derek hands Stiles another chunk of cement, he says, “He disappeared the same night we found out about the zombies.”

Stiles scoffs. “Does it make me a horrible person if I hope he got eaten?”

This time Derek raises one eyebrow and shrugs a single shoulder. “He’s probably out in the woods.”

“Living off squirrels and rabbits?” Stiles laughs and throws another chunk down into the wall. “I bet he _loves_ that.”

Smirking, Derek says, “His favorite food used to be duck.” After a beat, Derek adds, "A l'Orange."

It takes Stiles a moment to realize Derek is _trying_ to be funny. Stiles can't help but laugh, both at the joke, and at his realization. "Ha! What a pretentious asshole!"

"I bet his Italian shoes are holding up well in the Preserve." Derek hands Stiles an actual, honest-to-god stop sign.

Stiles takes it and shrugs before tossing it in. He chuckles at the image of Peter frowning down at his shoes as they disintegrate in one of the ice-cold creeks that run through the Preserve. "I take it back. I'm glad he's gone, even if–" Stiles snaps his mouth shut before he can spill a secret that's not his to tell.

Derek pauses, studying Stiles intently, which is pretty nerve wracking, honestly. Stiles feels like maybe his forehead is sweating. And his ears? Derek asks, "What were you going to say?"

Shaking his head, Stiles insists, "Nothing!"

Big piece of rubble in one hand, Derek crosses his arms over his chest anyway. He levels a stare at Stiles. "I can tell when you're lying, you know."

"Whoop-de-freakin-do!" Stiles puts his hands on his hips and looks down at Derek. "Let's just pretend it's nothing so we can get back to work. Scott wants this section done by sundown."

Stiles really expects Derek to let it go, which is why he almost falls off the scaffolding when Derek says, "No. Tell me what you were going to say."

Stiles thinks there has to be something wrong with him, because Derek being stubborn intrigues Stiles far more than it should. And actually, it reminds him a lot of Malia, and yeah, he sort of sees the family resemblance now. Maybe it would be better if someone else knew, just in case Stiles doesn't make it through this. He doesn't have any illusions. He knows he's one of the weakest members of their little group of survivors. God, in all the excitement, Stiles hasn't even told _Scott_ , much less Malia herself.

If anyone should know, it's one of Malia's relatives, right?

Sighing, Stiles looks around for anyone who could be eavesdropping. Everyone else appears to be over at the unfinished side of the wall, making sure the mountain ash circle doesn't break. "Fine," Stiles says, sitting down on the scaffolding and looking at Derek, who's face is now above his. "Malia was adopted. Mr. Tate wasn't her bio dad."

It takes Derek a moment, but he puts the pieces together. "Peter's her father?" Derek looks over at Malia in the group of the others and Stiles thinks Derek's gone a little pale. "Does she know?" Taking a step up, Derek sits next to Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head. "Lydia and Allison found out a couple weeks ago. They told me. Peter knows. I don't think anyone else…"

Lips pressed together tightly, Derek nods. "Did my mother know?"

Stiles explains about Lydia helping Peter get the memories back from Talia Hale's claws. "Lydia thinks she must have had a good reason for taking the memory away from Peter."

"Seventeen years ago…" Derek sighs, closing his eyes and pressing on them. "He would've been just a few years out of high school. I barely remember then." 

Stiles gives Derek a side-eyed look. "Wait. How old is Peter?"

"Thirty-something," Derek says. "Fifteen years older than me, I think."

Scoffing, Stiles tells Derek, "Peter made it seem like he was only a couple of years older than you. He said he hung out with you at school!"

Derek furrows his brows at Stiles. "That never happened. He came for a few of my basketball games, but..."

Stiles feels sick. What else has Peter lied about? Stiles wishes he didn't _have_ to know, but he does. "Look, don't kill me for asking. Did you ever have a high school girlfriend named Paige?"

Tensing up, Stiles braces himself for a blow that never comes. He realizes he's squeezing his eyes shut, so he opens them too look at Derek. Derek mostly just looks confused. "No," he says. 

"No?" Stiles asks, rubbing his temples in annoyance. Out of the two of them, Stiles figures he's probably better off believing Derek than Peter. "Got bit by Ennis? Rejected the bite?"

Derek shakes his head again. "I had a high school boyfriend," Derek says, which surprises Stiles, because usually Derek doesn't go out of his way to give Stiles information. He looks sad, and Stiles wonders if Peter just mixed up boyfriend and girlfriend.

"What was his name?" Stiles asks.

Derek meets Stiles' eyes for half a very meaningful-feeling second before looking away. The edge of his mouth twitches upward. "Kyle. We did almost everything together for a long time."

Stiles clenches his fists so he doesn't rub his hands together in glee at being let in on this gossip, dampened only by the dread at finding out why Derek looks so sad. "What happened?"

Doing another one of his half-shrugs, Derek says softly, "I broke up with him when Kate Argent told me to. I said these things…" The smile Derek gives looks like that of a heartbroken man. "He wouldn't even talk to me after the fire."

"Wow," Stiles says, bumping his shoulder against Derek's like that will make anything better. "Sorry, dude."

Derek leans forward, putting his elbows on his thighs and his chin in his hands. "Deputy Parrish reminds me of him."

Chuckling, Stiles leans forward as well, squinting his eyes at the group. Jordan Parrish is standing next to Stiles' Dad, talking about something with big hand gestures. Looking back at Derek, Stiles sees that Derek's face has softened. "Got a crush, do we?"

The glare Derek gives Stiles is one of his scariest, but Stiles knows he doesn't mean it. It's kind of hard to take the guy seriously when the tips of his ears are red with embarrassment. It's cute. "No," Derek says.

"You should go for it," Stiles tells Derek, pointing down at the group across the way. "I mean, it's the end of the world. You might as well go for it."

Derek nods. After a silent moment, he leans toward Stiles and says, "If you hurt my cousin, I'll kill you." Then he stands up and grabs another piece of rubble from the pile below them, holding it out to Stiles. "Come on."

"Oh, yeah," Stiles says, taking the chuck of cement and rubbing the nervous sweat from his brow. "Yeah, let's totally get back to work like you didn't just threaten my life."

Derek rolls his eyes. For a moment, everything feels almost normal.

~*~

**Day 16, early morning**

"Is this it?" Kira asks, bringing a bottle to Allison, who's leaning against the pharmacy counter, keeping an eye out while Kira goes through the pharmacy shelves. They're looking for something called acarbose for Mr. Rivera. He's diabetic and Melissa's worried about him, worried enough to send Kira and Allison outside the wall.

So far the wall is working. It's only been a week since they decided to put it up, and Kira's starting to hope that it'll last until this whole thing is over. They were able to contact Shoreview once more before Shoreview stopped responding. Kira hopes that means they got rescued, but the practical side of her brain thinks they probably got killed.

Allison takes the bottle and squints at it, looking down at the piece of crumpled paper in her hand. "Yeah," Allison says. "This is it. Are there any more?"

Kira grins, proud of herself for getting it right. "Yeah, sure. Lots more." As she makes her way back toward the shelf, Kira swings her bag off her back, opening it so she can grab as many bottles of the stuff as she can carry. She calls over her shoulder, "Remind me the names of those antibiotics Mrs. Stilinski wanted us to look for?"

The pained way Allison says, "Kira!" makes Kira's blood run cold. She drops her bag and pulls her sword in one fluid motion. The sound of Allison's crossbow letting loose an arrow is followed closely by that arrow sinking into flesh and fragile bone. 

Allison can shoot, but Kira knows that she can't move very quickly – at least, not without help. Kira gets to Allison's side in three long strides and then jumps over the pharmacy counter. This puts Kira between Allison and the other zombies who are wandering toward them from the front door of the pharmacy. 

"There's like eight of them," Kira says, stabbing the one closest to her through its mouth.

A crossbow bolt glances off one of the store shelves. Allison mutters, "Shit," and loads another crossbow bolt. "There's too many of them.

Kira notices a door that must go to a back room or somewhere. If she can get Allison through that door, they should be able to bar the door and wait until the zombies get bored and wander off. It usually doesn't take _too_ long for that to happen.

Taking out another zombie by throwing a can of nutritional shake _through_ its head, Kira catches Allison's eye. "I'm gonna pull you over the counter."

Allison's eyes go wide, and then she nods, holding her crossbow tight to her chest. She turns, putting her back and shoulders onto the pharmacy counter. Kira throws another can, sends a spark of electricity down one whole row of zombies, and then Kira grabs Allison under her arms and pulls. 

There's just enough time to get Allison on her feet before Kira has to pick up her sword from where she'd dropped it and behead a zombie that looked a lot like her old math teacher. Creepy. "The door," Kira says, pointing once, and then again when Allison's done shooting. "Get through that door."

Allison nods and shoots again before walking stiffly toads the door. There's another row full of zombies that Kira shocks as she rushes past, reaching the door just before Allison does. 

The door is unlocked, so Kira swings it open, kicking away one zombie and then another before Allison can get through it. Kira follows her, slamming shut the door and then pushing the lock on the handle. The door rattles, but it doesn't open. Kira blinks. "Wow. It's _really_ dark in here."

Allison snickers, her clothing rustling until she flicks on a flashlight. She shines it all around the broom closet they've found themselves in. "No other exits," Allison says with a sigh, frowning at the rattling door. She puts her back against the clear section of the back wall and slides down it, closing her eyes as her ass hits the laminate floor. "I guess we're here for awhile."

Kira sits down with her back to the door, bracing one of her boots against the mop basin cemented into the floor. The door rattles, but Kira knows the zombies aren't strong or smart enough to break through. "I should've barricaded the front door," Kira says, flinching when Allison turns off her flashlight.

"That would've attracted them faster," Allison says with a sigh. "Think the others are having any luck with that herd?"

"I hope Finstock hasn't convinced them to start the zombies on fire." Kira winces at a particularly hard rattle of the door. "Those walls we've built are anything but fireproof."

Allison's silent for a moment before she says, "We should scavenge some bricks. Make ourselves some real castle walls. I mean," she sighs, "it's not like our mountain ash is going to last forever."

Kira nods even though she knows Allison can't see her. "I just want everyone I care about to make it through this."

"I just want there to _be_ a 'through this'." Allison shuffles closer until her leg tests against Kira's. "How long, do you think, before we make our escape?"

For a moment, Kira thinks Allison's talking about escaping from Beacon Hills and going somewhere people are still alive. Then she realizes Allison's more likely talking about escaping this closet. "Maybe an hour," Kira says, even though the rattling of the door is already starting to taper off. Kira thinks zombies must not have very good memories. "Just to be safe."

They wait in silence for a few minutes, Allison's leg steady against Kira's, which Kira thinks is nice. She likes not having to guess Allison's whereabouts using only her ears. Having lived as human for so long, Kira's still used to relying primarily on her eyes.

Kira breaks the silence eventually, saying, "I miss when my biggest problem was whether or not somebody liked me and if I was going to get my english essay done on time."

Snorting, Allison replies, "Yeah, me too." She shuffles a little closer and Kira realizes the banging on the door has stopped. "I used to think it would be simple, living long enough to find two special someones, getting married, having a family."

"Life is shorter than we think," Kira says in agreement, abandoning her post holding the door shut and leaning forward to hug Allison. "I guess that means we shouldn't waste it."

Kira will swear up and down that she didn't mean the line as a come-on and honestly, she's shocked when Allison pulls back a little, finding Kira's face with her hands and then kissing Kira right on the lips. Kira makes a surprised noise, but gets with the program quickly enough. She kisses Allison back, her chest tight with something that feels a lot like giddy excitement. Kira doesn't remember the last time she's felt like this.

As Allison pulls back, Kira breathes out and says, "Wow."

"Wow in a good way?" Allison asks, one of her hands tracing down Kira's cheek.

Kira puts a hand over Allison's to keep it close. "Wow in a lot of ways," Kira says, possibilities flashing past her eyes in the darkness. Kira loves Scott, and she knows Scott still loves Allison. Kira likes Allison a lot. Despite sitting in the dark, hiding from flesh-hungry monsters, Kira sees years and years spent together, hears wedding bells, thinks there damn well better be a future! Reality hits Kira like a foot to the chest. "What about what happened with Isaac? What about you and Scott and–"

"I don't care about that right now," Allison says, right before she seals her lips over Kira's again.

Kira figures if Allison doesn't care, Kira can probably get away with not caring either.

~*~

**Day 19, noon**

“What’re you going to do now?” Jordan Parrish asks Derek as Malia and Allison take their place at the top of the wall.

Derek’s just spent four hours watching for big groups of zombies approaching the camp most of the survivors are starting to call The Castle. He has to admit that the majority of the time he’d been throwing rocks at the occasional zombie just because he liked Jordan’s reaction when he managed to kill one. It was this enticing blend of excitement with a touch of arousal, all taking place inches from where Derek kept vigil.

As much as he wants to take Stiles’ advice to heart and just let something happen with Jordan, Derek also doesn’t want to give himself false hope. Jordan’s human. With the zombie bites being fatal to humans, Jordan’s lifespan is significantly shorter than Derek’s. Even more so than it was before the zombies.

Derek was taught as a child that he’d probably live much longer than the average human. It wasn’t uncommon for an alpha to reach 200 years old, and a beta to reach at least half that. As a teenager, Talia warned Derek not to form life-long attachments to humans. It had seemed like such a far-off probability that Derek hadn’t really thought about it.

Now it seems like a bigger deal.

Still, Derek hasn’t had a good track record at being able to resist his feelings for long. In high school, he dated Kyle even though it was difficult keeping the truth about werewolves away from him. Derek knew it was a bad idea to get involved with Kate because she was so much older than him, but he’d let himself fall in with her anyway. He’d been with Jennifer, even when he knew barely anything about her.

Derek takes a look at Jordan and finds himself charmed by Jordan’s hopeful smile. The world is upside down, almost everyone in Beacon Hills is dead, and somehow Jordan looks hopeful. It makes Derek smile in response. God, he’s so weak.

Derek shrugs. “Probably get something to eat. Wanna come?”

“Yeah,” Jordan says, brushing against Derek as he walks pass in a way that has to be deliberate. Jordan still smells like careful happiness and arousal, and some of those scents linger on Derek’s clothes. “You know, I don’t think I ever had such a great appreciation for tuna fish as I do in this day and age.” Jordan smirks over his shoulder at Derek.

He’s doing this on purpose. Derek knows it. He wants to play along, so Derek dryly says, “If by appreciation, you mean utter revulsion, then yes.”

Jordan laughs, and then he slows down for half a step so Derek catches up to him. He leans close to Derek and says, “I have a stash of canned chicken that I’ve been saving.”

“Do you?” Derek asks, taking a chance and putting his arm over Jordan’s shoulders. “Is this bragging, or…”

Shrugging so his shoulders make Derek’s arm rise and fall, Jordan says, “More like an offer to share. I mean, it pretty much tastes like tuna anyway, but at least it’s something different.”

“Sure.” Derek lets his arm drop, but keeps his hand at the small of Jordan’s back as they walk toward the apartment building where most of them have set up their personal spaces. Most everyone has crammed into about four apartments worth of space, just for the feeling of safety that comes from the close proximity. Derek doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that his things and Jordan’s things sort of ended up in the same room. 

He probably should have expected it, but Derek is still surprised when as soon as they enter that room, Jordan closes the door, throws his arms around the back of Derek’s neck, and pulls him into a kiss.

God, it's been too long since Derek's been kissed. He presses himself against Jordan as he returns the kiss, giving as good as he's getting. Jordan's body temperature spikes up a little and Derek's fingers itch to feel the heat of Jordan's skin for themselves. 

Jordan pulls back, catching his breath and smiling at Derek. "You, um–" he says, curling his fingers over Derek's shoulders. "You're pretty good at that."

"Thanks?" Derek's tone is more uncertain than he means it to be. 

Chuckling almost nervously, Jordan shakes his head. "Sorry. I forgot what it was like, kissing people other than…" Jordan shakes his head again. "Nevermind."

He moves toward Derek like he means to kiss Derek again, but Derek stops him. "Do you have someone?" Derek asks, thinking it was a stupid question. Even if Jordan had someone before all this, there's no guaranteeing they're still alive. " _Did_ you have someone?"

Leaning his forehead against Derek's shoulder, Jordan nods. "I was engaged. We'd been together since high school."

"And they…" Derek doesn't want to finish the question. Of course they're dead. Derek's heart hurts for Jordan. He knows exactly what it's like to lose almost everyone you care about in a short amount of time. Clearing his throat, Derek decides the best thing he can do is ask, "What were their names?"

"Heidi and Felix," Jordan says. "I broke up with them. I don't know why I did that."

Okay, now Derek's just confused. "Before all this?"

"Before I moved to Beacon Hills." Jordan gives Derek a shaky smile. "Just decided one day I wasn't ready to settle down. Had this..." Turning to put some space between his body and Derek's, Jordan holds his hands in front of him, palms up. He clenches them and opens them a few time. "This _feeling_. I can't explain it."

Derek feels this rush of affection for Jordan. He reaches out and puts his fingers through Jordan's short hair. "I don't have anyone either," Derek says, really just wanting to make Jordan feel better about everything. He leans in slowly so Jordan can stop him if he wants. Instead, Jordan gives Derek half a smile and closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Derek's almost desperately.

The blood in Derek's body thrums, filling his ears with the sound. He puts his hands around Jordan's back and then lower, onto Jordan's ass, making him gasp. Derek lets Jordan pull him across the room and down onto Jordan's bed, which still smells a lot like whoever had owned it before the Castle. 

As Jordan pulls Derek close and grinds against him, Derek loses track of everything except for the noises Jordan makes when Derek sucks kisses down his neck. Derek's skin sizzles with the contact when he and Jordan both throw off their shirts before pressing together again. 

Derek's breathing harshly, trying to get his jeans off while Jordan bites at Derek's neck, when the alarm sounds.

It's not an alarm like Derek had at his loft, but it is a sharp, shrill whistle like the one in Derek's pocket and the one still hanging around Jordan's neck.

Jordan throws his head back and swears. "Shit."

Derek grunts in agreement, pulling his pants back up and grabbing his shirt. Before he gets it on, someone barges into the room. Derek almost responds violently (if half-blind with his shirt still obscuring his vision), but simultaneously he sees and smells that it's Kira. "The wall broke," she cries, her eyes wild and her hair crackling with static.

Before Derek can reply, Kira leaves, moving to the next door over. Derek shares a look with Jordan, who's clenching his jaw unhappily, but putting his shirt on just the same and then grabbing his gun belt. 

Derek doesn't wait for Jordan to be ready before he leaves, running to the end of the hallway outside their apartment and out the open window at the end. Derek pauses in the window before dropping down so he can get a look at the situation. The "courtyard" of the castle is sharply divided by the line of retreating people and the mass of zombies stumbling in through the break in the wall. He notes that the break is at the point in the wall they hadn't quite finished. Of course. 

Dropping down into the fray, Derek finds himself just behind Scott as they head toward the zombies. "How did they get in?" Derek asks.

Over his shoulder, Scott says, "Someone must have scuffed the mountain ash line and broken it. 

An arrow whizzes a few feet over Derek's head and into the skull of the zombie Derek was about to take down. Instead, Derek leaps over that one and onto the one behind it, quickly breaking its neck and crushing its skull before rolling and regaining his balance for the next kill.

Gunshots fill the air, some of the bullets acrid with the scent of wolfsbane. Derek works with Scott, Malia, and Kira to push back the line of zombies. A bullet grazes his shoulder, but the wound heals almost as soon as it was made, so Derek counts his blessings that it wasn't a wolfsbane bullet. He shouts over his shoulder, "Watch it!"

Stiles shouts back, "Sorry!" and Derek thanks the universe that Chris Argent declined to give Stiles wolfsbane bullets.

When Malia falls under a writhing mass of at least five zombies, Derek's heart skips a beat. He still has in mind what Stiles told him. Malia is a Hale. She's _pack_ , even if her shape doesn't quite mirror Derek's. 

Growling as loud as he can, Derek rushes the zombies, using his momentum to knock most of them off of Malia. He grabs her arm and pulls, getting her out from under them and pushing her behind him so she can heal. There's a bite on her cheek and at least a few chunks out of her arms and legs that Derek can see. God, no wonder Isaac didn't survive on his own. 

Beside Derek, Kira screams. There's a zombie with its teeth in her forearm. A shock wave of electricity blows the zombie back, as well as the few behind it, but the damage has been done. No one knows whether Kira is immune to the bite or not. She could be dead.

Scott meets Derek's gaze for the briefest moment, his eyes wide with worry and an unasked question. Derek doesn't know what the question is, but instinct has him nodding to Scott just the same. Scott nods back and calls, "Run! Everyone retreat!"

The Sheriff echoes the order as Melissa darts forward and takes Malia out of Derek's hands.

Derek makes one last stand, knocking down two, then three zombies, before he follows Kira out of the fight. The castle walls are strong, and Derek finds himself following the drill Stiles put them through on day three or four of living here. The exit pathways through the buildings that make up parts of the wall are ingrained in Derek's memory. 

Derek finds himself through the bakery with Kira right in front of him and Scott behind him. Derek thinks that's Stiles and Lydia in front of Kira, but he's distracted by the way Scott shouts, "Run, run, run!"

Outside the castle, Allison joins their group. She's running, but not well, and Derek helps Scott get her onto Scott's back. "Did everyone get out?" Derek asks, looking back at the bakery exit, waiting to see someone else. If he's honest with himself, Derek would admit that he's waiting to make sure Jordan made it out alive.

Only zombies pour from the exit, one after another like ants pouring out of an anthill.

"I don't know," Scott says, holding onto Allison's legs. "But we've got to run, Derek!"

"Yeah," he says, turning away from the Castle and following Scott through the empty city streets.

They catch up to Lydia and Stiles, and Stiles gives Derek this _look_ – this sad, sympathetic sort of look. Derek ignores him and makes sure everyone keeps running. 

Kira's still holding her arm to her chest as she asks, "Where are we supposed to meet everyone?"

"At the Target," Stiles says, glancing backward.

When Derek looks back as well, he sees that they're outpacing the zombies. He thinks about how to get to the rendezvous point, and says, "We've got to go north." Derek points to his left, up one of the streets. 

"Great," Scott says, turning that way until Lydia puts a hand on Scott's chest.

"Not that way," Lydia says, her eyes wide as she stares down the street.

Derek doesn't have time for whatever Lydia's seeing or sensing or whatever, so he tries to push at Scott to hurry the whole group along. That's when he finally gets a good look down the street.

"That's a really big herd, isn't it?" Kira asks.

"Yeah," Derek says, pulling at Lydia's elbow to get her to keep moving east.

Scott comes with them, Stiles hurrying to keep up and Kira at Scott's side. "We'll circle around," Scott says. "It'll probably take everyone awhile to get there."

"If they even make it there," Stiles says under his breath, giving Derek another look.

Confused and pissed off, Derek asks Stiles, " _What_?"

At his elbow, Lydia says softly, "We saw Deputy Parrish get bit."

Derek nods, pressing his lips together and for a moment he forgets to keep moving. Jordan's dead. Derek was just with him, just about to have something with him that could have been really great. Now he's either dead, or about to be dead.

The grief has to come out somewhere, so Derek growls as he punches a mailbox, crumpling it inward. It seemed normal this time, like it should have been. Not too good to be true like with Kate or Jennifer. 

Derek shakes him off when Scott tries to put a hand on Derek's forearm. Stalking forward, Derek tries to get around the group of them, only to have Lydia hurry to block his path. Derek growls, "We have to keep moving."

"Yes, we do," Lydia says, but she doesn't move. Instead, she stares him down until the blood in Derek's ears isn't rushing anymore and he's starting to breathe normally. "Okay?"

Derek nods, swallowing against the sick feeling in his stomach. He has a job to do, which means he has to focus. "I'm okay."

Lydia watches Derek's face for another long moment, which he finds annoying, but also touching, like she cares about him. Derek has no idea why she would. In any case, just as Derek is about to complain, Lydia nods sharply and says, "Let's go."

Derek starts running.

~*~

**Day 19, late afternoon**

Lydia follows as closely behind Scott as she can. Even with Allison on his back, Scott can move faster and for longer than Lydia can. At least he's got Stiles slowing him down, too, so Lydia doesn't have to feel too bad. She feels bad enough wearing some stranger's gym shoes instead of her designer heels. Well, with the pants she's wearing, it's not like anyone's going to see her less-than-shapely calves anyway.

Looking back at Stiles behind her, Lydia rolls her eyes at how red his face is already. They're barely a mile from the castle. Since they haven't been able to turn north without getting turned back by a group of zombies, Lydia calculates that they're going to have to run at least five miles to get to the rendezvous. If not more.

Slowing to a fast walk, Lydia puts herself next to Stiles and asks, "How are you doing?"

"Not great," he gasps, matching Lydia's stride. He leans to look around Scott, Lydia, and Kira. "I'd be better if Derek didn't keep disappearing ahead of us."

"He's clearing the path," Lydia says, even though she knows Stiles knows that. "We'll catch up."

His voice low, Stiles says, "That's what Mr. Argent thought about Isaac."

Ahead of them, Scott turns to look at them, still moving forward, and still carrying Allison on his back.

"Ugh, let me down," Allison says, pulling away from Scott's hold and sliding down until her boots are on the ground. "I can walk for awhile."

Kira looks paler than normal, one of her arms still bloody, but she takes Allison's hand with her good one. Lydia would be lying if she said she was surprised when she found out about that. Really, even if everything had stayed the same and Isaac was still alive, Lydia was fairly certain Allison would have ended up with Scott and Kira eventually.

Not that Lydia is any good at predicting this sort of thing. If she had anything to say about it, _she_ would be the one dating Allison and Scott. It's not up to Lydia, though. Things haven't worked out that way and it's fine. 

Beside Lydia, Stiles huffs and says, "It'll get dark soon. I don't even have a flashlight. We don't have _water_."

There's something in Stiles' voice that bothers Lydia. It sounds almost like he's starting to panic, and Lydia can't let that happen. "There's a gas station a few blocks up. Maybe they still have something to drink that hasn't been looted."

Not that Lydia's been allowed to experience it first hand, because she's not superhumanly strong or good at fighting or shooting, but she's heard that there's been surprisingly little looting. Lydia hypothesizes that it's because the infection spread too fast. People died before they could panic and start looting too many stores. 

In a little over a week at the Castle, only two more survivors joined their group. Everyone else is dead. At least Lydia's mother isn't alone in the embarrassment of having died in the zombie apocalypse. 

With Stiles looking more wild-eyed by the second, Lydia grabs his hand and gets his eyes to meet hers. "It'll be fine."

"But where _are_ they?" Stiles asks, pointing back the way they'd come. "Dad and Mima? Malia? Coach?"

"They'll meet us," Lydia insists, watching as Kira drops back to join their conversation. "Everyone will be there."

"I think I saw them heading out through the bank," Kira says. "They're probably going west until they can head north."

"Yeah, until they run into the ocean," Stiles says with a scoff. Lydia notices Stiles' steps grow more steady and less erratic as they walk. Stiles nods to Kira and asks, "How's the arm?"

Kira holds it out toward both of them (Stiles flinches away at the blood still staining the ragged edges of Kira's jacket), and says, "Better, I think. It's healing like Malia's did."

"Let's hope that means you're immune," Stiles says, pushing both hands back through his hair. 

Lydia ponders the ramifications of Kira being immune. It means, of course, that kitsune are immune. She wonders, not for the first time, _exactly_ how kitsune and nogitsune are alike. Stiles is no longer possessed by the nogitsune, but that doesn't mean he's the same as he was before. Lydia can see the fear and cynicism in Stiles' eyes, can hear it in his voice.

Oddly, it makes her like him more. 

Reaching out, Lydia laces her fingers through Stiles', squeezing tightly. "Let's keep moving. Even if every person in Beacon Hills is a zombie, they can only cover two total acres of land. Eventually we'll be able to move around them."

Derek comes running back toward them, his eyes wide. 

"What is it?" Scott asks, taking a few quick steps forward to meet Derek. "What happened?"

"There's a line of them stretching for _miles_ ," Derek says. "There's no way we're going to be able to get around them. Not if we want to live."

"What are they doing?" Allison asks, stepping around Derek like she'll be able to see this line he's talking about. 

"Walking," Derek says, his frown deep as he turns around as well, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Allison. Lydia knew a common enemy would be the thing to bring a Hale and an Argent onto the same side of a fight. She has to admit, she'd never thought of zombies as a real possibility. "They just keep walking toward town."

Stiles pulls his hand out of Lydia's, throwing his hands toward where Derek and Allison are looking, even though there are trees and houses between them and any zombies that are out there. "The rendezvous point is _in town_! How are we supposed to get to the others?"

"We don't," Lydia finds herself saying quietly.

Derek turns, meeting Lydia's eyes and nodding at her. "Our only choice is to leave. Head into the woods and keep moving."

Stiles makes an affronted noise and turns to Scott, who has a hand pressed to his mouth and his brow furrowed. Scott lets his hand down with a sigh and gives Derek a quick nod. "We keep moving. We stay alive."

"Great, we stay alive," Stiles cries, grabbing Scott's shoulder roughly. "What happens to Mima and Dad? What happens to the others? We've got two werewolves and a kitsune, what do they have?"

"A werecoyote," Lydia tells him. "A sheriff, a nurse, and a hunter. A lacrosse coach. They're probably in better shape than we are." Huffing, Lydia points at the yellowing sky. "Do I have to remind everyone that it's going to be dark soon?"

"No, you don't," Scott says, cutting off Stiles with a gesture when he tries to argue. "Let's go. Kira, help Derek find some shelter for the night. Someplace with bottled water if you can."

Kira nods, gripping her sheathed sword tighter to her body and waiting for Derek before they run forward.

Lydia takes a few quick steps to catch up to Allison, putting Allison's arm around her shoulder. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Allison says, giving Lydia half a smile. "Worried about my Dad, but fine. I mean, what if there _is_ no one left?"

Lydia sighs, though she tries her best to take some of Allison's weight without showing how tired and hungry she feels. "Life goes on, Allison."

Ahead of them, Scott runs to the side, killing what looks like a zombified postal carrier. Stiles hovers behind Scott, his bat raised like he's going to help, but is afraid to get close. 

Lydia thinks about fear and wishes she'd had less of it before all this happened. She knows, in the abstract, that life goes on. Life finds a way. It's also short, and Lydia feels like her time is coming to an end. She wishes she hadn't been so afraid to go after the things she wanted.

She wishes she still had someone who looked at her the way Scott looks at Allison when he comes back, checking in with a brief touch to Allison's hair. 

Still, Lydia knows it's silly to dwell on wishes. The world is different now, and Lydia has to adapt to that. It's adapt or die, and Lydia's not ready to die yet. Not while there's still so much to do.

Besides, it's been days since Lydia has felt the buzzing in her head and she's finally thinking clearly. It's time to survive.

~*~

**Day 24, afternoon**

"How much further until the houses?" Allison asks Scott, hiking up the hill by his side. She's gotten stronger than she'd ever thought she would be when she woke up in the hospital with a stitched-up hole in her stomach. Allison is still healing, but she knows most of the work is behind her now. She can shoot a bow again. She can run. "I'm getting thirsty."

"Not far," Scott says with a smile. His hair is getting long again and it reminds Allison of when they first met. He looks over his shoulder and Allison follows his gaze. Behind them, Stiles and Lydia are arguing about something, both of them using expressive hand gestures.

It's been two days since they've seen a zombie. It's been one week since they've seen anyone else alive. Allison misses her father at least a hundred times a day, but she finds herself smiling back at Scott anyway. "Derek and Kira are meeting us there?"

"Derek may be awhile," Scott says. "He wanted to check out a bunch of the houses for more food. Kira should be there."

"Good," Allison says, more excited to see Kira again than worried Kira will have gotten in trouble since they split up an hour ago. They haven't really kissed again since leaving the Castle, but Allison is hoping it'll happen again soon. She's hoping that she and Scott will start kissing again sometime soon as well. "We'll stay the night."

Behind them, Lydia cries, "I call the biggest bed! All this camping sucks!

Allison rolls her eyes, which makes Scott chuckle. It's not like they have much of a choice. Each time they find a town, they also find zombies. It's safer to stick to the forest. Allison turns and says, "You just hate sharing a tent with Stiles!"

"He snores."

Mock-offended, Stiles gasps. "I do _not_."

"You kinda do, dude," Scott says, dropping back to put an arm over Stiles' shoulders. "If you want, I'll bunk with Stiles tonight. You can sleep between Kira and Allison."

"Yeah." Lydia scoffs. "Like _I_ am gonna be the one to break up that love fest. No thanks."

Allison knows that nothing has happened yet, but she blushes anyway. At the top of the crest, Allison can see though the bare trees all the way down the path they've been following. Near the bottom, she sees a flash of blue and some sort of structure. "Oh, look," she says to the others. "It's Kira. Hi, Kira!" Kira's standing on the back porch of a house in her bright blue coat, a few canteens hanging over one shoulder. 

"Hey," Kira calls out, holding a canteen up for Allison, who takes it from her and takes a few gulps of water before handing it to Stiles. "I ran into three of them." She gives the group of them a shrug and leads the way into the darkened house. "They were heading west, like all the others."

"Toward Beacon Hills," Stiles says, licking his upper lip as he passes the canteen to Lydia.

Derek walks into the house from the front door, joining them in the kitchen, which lets out to the back porch. "Everything leads back to Beacon Hills," he says, holding out a bag, which he sets on the kitchen table. "Most of the cars were gone from the town," he says. "Empty dresser drawers. No photo albums. Lots of food left in the cupboards."

"I found the same thing here. What does it mean?" Kira asks, leaning down to open the bag and coming up with a can of Spam, which she sticks her tongue out at. "Why would they leave their food, but take all that other stuff."

The idea comes out of Allison's mouth as soon as she thinks it. "They were evacuated."

"Which means," Stiles says, pointing at Allison, "that there was someone left to do the evacuation."

Lydia nods, grasping at Allison's wrist. "We haven't seen that before. Maybe we've made it out of the primary hot zone."

Allison's not quite sure what that means, but she nods anyway. "Now we just have to find out where they were evacuated to." Looking around, Allison decides, "In the morning. Right now I just want to eat some Spam and go to sleep."

"I'll take first watch," Scott says, taking off his backpack, which has one of the tents they managed to find after the first two nights shivering in the forest. He smiles at Allison and wraps his arms around Kira, before Kira pulls Allison into the hug. Scott murmurs, "It's going to be okay."

"It's going to be okay," Allison repeats. She thinks it's a little naive to assume that wherever people have been evacuated to hasn't been overrun with zombies, but just the same it feels nice to have concrete hope again. If Allison can get there, if she can find other people who are still alive, then she can get them to help start a real search for her father, and for Scott's and Stiles' parents, and Kira's, and Lydia's dad and everyone else. 

There's still hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this work was done by the incredible [tresa_cho](http://tresa_cho.livejournal.com/). Please visit their [art masterpost](http://tresa-cho.livejournal.com/311797.html) and give some love!
> 
> This work takes place in the same 'verse as [Constant Motion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1382302).


End file.
